Drabbles
by starrrz
Summary: Dumping ground for unconnected Fanfic100 fics and drabble challenges.
1. Chapter 1

**[ _Prompt # 039. "Taste" Robin/The Count - kind of..._ ]**

"Vladimir," the Count gestured widely from his throne, "isn't here."

Robin stood still for a long moment, waiting for the elaboration which never came. Finally he prompted, "Do you know where he is?"

"Do I know where he is?" The Count asked incredulously, "I am the Prince of Darkness, the most evil vampire to cast my foul shadow upon this Earth, the –"

"Yeah," Robin cut in, "but do you know where he is."

The Count pulled a face. "Outside, somewhere. He said he wouldn't be long."

Robin grinned and slid into an empty seat, reaching for a newspaper. He could wait.

**xXx**

"Aw, _awesome_," Robin murmured at the sight of the centre spread: 'What Makes a Breather Irresistible?' He was just reading Countess Basarab's comments on core body temperature when _it_ happened. Fidgeting with the edge of the page, sharp pain shot through him, the paper slicing skin.

He made to lift the cut to his mouth but jumped in shock as cool fingers caught hold of his wrist in a vice like grip.

"Ah-ah," the Count smirked at him, "waste not, want not."

The Count arched one dark eyebrow, a predatory smile curling across his face, and brought the hand up to his own mouth. Robin watched, wide-eyed and breathless, as the Count swiped at the blood with his tongue before sucking at his finger in a way that he imagined would be featuring heavily in his dreams – both asleep and waking – for many years to come.

After a long moment the Count released him, flashing him a lecherous smile, before turning on his heel, cape billowing, and leaving the room. Robin stared at the empty doorway until his heart rate managed to slow to something less life-threatening.

**xXx**

"Robin, are you even listening?" Vlad waved a hand in front of his face, "Cinema or bowling; bowling or cinema?"

"I really," Robin shrugged, the faraway look on his face he'd had all afternoon still firmly in place, "don't mind."

"No, let me guess," Vlad said sarcastically, "you'd sooner stay here and sit outside Ingrid's room all night. Just in case she gets peckish and can't be bothered to walk _all_ the way to the kitchen."

"Nah," Robin lounged back against Vlad's pillows, smiling dopily, "I thought we could stay in and sit outside the crypt. Your dad said he was staying home tonight."

Vlad took in the all too familiar dreamy look in Robin's eyes and the lovesick taint to his voice, and pulled a face. Robin, there were no two ways about it, needed _serious_ help.


	2. Chapter 2

**[ _A/N: Prompt #092. "Christmas" Robin/Vlad._ ]**

"Is it alright?"

"Vlad," Robin grinned up at him, "it's _awesome_!" Vlad blushed but smiled back as Robin put the cape on, fussing with first the collar, and then his hair, in the mirror. "'Ow do I look? Do you think I'd make a good vampire?"

"A better one than I will," Vlad said quietly.

Robin shot him a look that said 'don't be stupid' and scrabbled through the piles of clothes and junk on the floor, finally extracting a bundle of wrapping paper and sellotape, and slumping back onto the bed. Robin held it out to him, his expression uncharacteristically anxious,

"I didn't know what to get you."

Vlad looked at him curiously but took the package from him. The fact that it was from _Robin_ was more than enough to ensure its position as the best present he'd ever received. But, he supposed, it was probably for the best if Robin didn't know that. He tore at the wrapping paper, unable to hold back the undignified squeal as its contents were revealed,

"Mr. Cuddles!"

"Yeah, sorry, he looks a bit," Robin motioned at the lumpy stuffing and messy stitching, "worse for wear. I 'ad to get my mam to show me 'ow to sew it. I couldn't just get her to do it, she would have wanted to know why and got the wrong idea and –"

"You did all that just for me?" Vlad cut him off, looking from the scuffed plastic of Mr. Cuddles' eyes to Robin's faint blush and long, dark lashes.

"You're my best mate, Vlad." Robin met his gaze seriously, "I'd do anything for you." He gave him a lopsided smile, "I know I'm a berk sometimes, but I don't mean it."

Robin lifted his hand hesitantly, placing it on top of his own, and Vlad felt his heart pound, "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around."

Vlad shifted closer, the wrapping paper strewn all over the bed crinkling as he moved, and touched his fingertips to Robin's flushed cheek. Robin's eyes slid shut, his head tilting slightly in anticipation, and Vlad smiled. This was, without doubt, the best moment of his life so far.

He pressed his lips to Robin's carefully, lingering for a long moment before pulling back and waiting for Robin to meet his gaze.

"You'll never have to find out; I promise," grinning he wrapped his arms around Robin's shoulders, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Robin grinned back and, as the soft strains of Christmas carols filled the air, Vlad was certain that, no matter what, he'd always feel the same way.


	3. Chapter 3

**[ _A/N: Prompt # 096. "It was all a dream" Robin/Vlad._ ]**

"You sure you're not going to 'ave nightmares, Vlad?"

"Robin," Vlad said haughtily, "I _am_ the thing people have nightmares about." Robin thought he might have pulled it off, were it not for the way he was looking around nervously and clutching at Mr. Cuddles as he got into his sleeping bag.

"Don't be silly," Robin rolled over, making the most of the opportunity to outright _watch_ Vlad, "nobody would 'ave nightmares about _you_."

Vlad 'hmphed' in response and curled into his pillow. Robin smiled; half wishing he could voice the thought in his head. If Vlad was going to turn up in anyone's dreams, it certainly wouldn't be a _nightmare_.

He should know.

**xXx**

"Robin?"

He squinted up at the moonlight, taking in the sight of Vlad at the side of his bed, biting at his lip. Groggily he shifted over, to face Vlad properly, "What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

Robin grinned, "What did I tell you?"

Vlad pulled a face, but didn't move. "Can," he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, gaze downcast in a way that made him look, to Robin's eyes, impossibly beautiful, "I get in with you?"

Resisting the urge to pinch himself, Robin nodded dumbly; it was like all his dreams come true. He shifted over until he was pressed up against the wall, trying not to think too much as Vlad crawled in next to him, lest he totally embarrass himself.

"You know," Vlad whispered after a moment, "I won't bite." _Worst luck_ Robin thought as Vlad went on, "Lie down properly."

Cautiously, he did as he was told, very aware of the narrowness of his bed. They lay in awkward silence for a long moment, his every muscle tense as he did his best not to touch Vlad too much. It was really a small price to pay for being in the same bed as Vlad.

"Robin?" Vlad shifted around and Robin clenched his eyes shut, desperately trying to concentrate on anything but the fact Vlad was pressed up tight against him. "I'm still scared. Can you hold me?"

"Ho-," his voice cracked and he had to start again, "hold you?"

"I'm sorry. Forget I asked."

Vlad made to turn away and it forced Robin into action. Carefully, he pulled Vlad closer, so that the other boy's head was against his chest. In an attempt to draw attention away from his body's reaction to having Vlad that close, he asked, "Were the giant leeches really that terrifying?"

Comforting, Robin repeated over and over in his head as Vlad got closer still, this was supposed to be _comforting_. He felt fingertips trace across the exposed skin of his neck, and he shivered. The sensation was many things; comforting was not one of them.

"Would you hate me if I said I wasn't scared?" Vlad propped himself up on one hand and gave him a smile that made it clear the proximity was far from comforting for both of them. "Would you hate me if I said I just wanted to be in bed with you?"

This was just too much, stuff like this didn't happen to him. Scarcely daring to believe it was real, Robin slid his fingers into the hair at Vlad's nape, heart pounding in his chest. Vlad smiled back at him, reassuring, and Robin used the hold to pull him down,

"I couldn't hate you, Vlad. So long as you stop _talking_."

**xXx**

"Vlad. Oh, Vlad!"

Vlad sat up, holding his wrist up to the moonlight face of his wristwatch; 4am. Frowning, he moved closer to Robin. It had better be something important, he thought, rubbing at his eyes and untangling himself from his sleeping bag.

"_Vlad!"_

"Robin, it's late," he whispered plaintively. There was no answer, but Robin's hand was twitching where it lay against the blanket. Vlad peered closer and couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips at the realisation Robin was still asleep.

_Who_ was having nightmares now?


	4. Chapter 4

__

**[ Prompt #077. "What?" Gen. ]**

"What is **this**?"

Vlad pointed to a photograph in the album he had been flipping through; they were helping Mrs. Branagh make a collage for the kitchen.

Robin peered over his shoulder and visibly paled,

"You 'ave to understand Vlad, I was young. I didn't know what I was doing."

"Aw Robin." Chloe leaned over both boys, "Don't you look cute? Dad!" She slid the photo from the album and handed it over to Mr. Branagh. "Look at this."

Mr. Branagh inspected it closely before speaking. "Those were the days, eh Robin? Before you became **allergic** to fresh air."

Robin scowled. Vlad hid his grin behind his hand.

"I think," Mrs. Branagh said, taking the picture from her husband's hands, "this will make a lovely centrepiece." She tacked it to the centre of the board and stood back to admire it, everyone crowding around to get a good long look at Robin, aged eight and grinning from ear to ear, posing in his cub scout uniform.

"Sometimes Vlad," Robin hissed at him, "**I really don't like you**."


	5. Chapter 5

**[ **_**Prompt # 042. "Triangle" Chloe/Vlad. (I can't believe it either**_**…) ]**

"Aw, what's the point!?" Robin threw his pen down onto the kitchen table, pushing his hands into his hair in frustration, "When am I_ ever_ going to use trigonometry? I won't even 'ave to count." He glared at Chloe, "I've got a calculator!"

"Look, it's easy – "

"It's not easy! We're not all _Little Miss Genius_." Robin scowled and pushed back from the table, glowering at his maths textbook like it had personally wounded him, "I'm going on the computer. Vlad, are you coming?"

Vlad shook his head, and kept his gaze on his exercise book, hoping Robin wouldn't pry into his reasons why. Luck was on his side as Robin hmphed and 'fine'-d and stropped from the room without a backwards glance.

Once Robin was gone Vlad shot Chloe a shy smile, "I'm really grateful you're doing this, even if Robin isn't."

"Robin," Chloe said, pulling a face, "is an idiot. You can't teach somebody who doesn't want to learn."

"I do though. Want to learn, I mean." Vlad swallowed, unsure if he'd really have the nerve to get the whole sentence out, "I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to come round tomorrow and help me. Only if you want to," he added hastily as she frowned, "I'd just, well," he could feel the blush spreading across the face and trailed off, "really like it."

"Vlad," she started, searching his face, "are you trying to ask me out?"

"What? Me? Ask you out?" He tried to bluster through it before giving up. "Yeah." He looked away, "I know, you're not interested in weird vampire stuff." He sighed, "Or weird soon-to-be vampires." She'd made it clear often enough; he just wished his brain would do a better job of taking the fact on board.

He startled as warm fingers curled with his own, where his hand was resting against the table top. "I'd like it too, Vlad. Honest."

Vlad smiled widely at her, heart fluttering at the smile he got in return, and squeezed at her hand for a moment.

"But first," Chloe's tone was once more business like, and she extricated her fingers, although he could still see a touch of pink in her cheeks, "I think you'll find that side PQ is _not_ eight centimetres."

Vlad just grinned and picked his pen back up. He _loved_ trigonometry.


	6. Chapter 6

**[ _Prompt # 098. "Wedding"_ ]**

"Please go with me. I can't do it on my own."

"It's only a wedding."

"Only a wedding…" Robin shook his head, "You 'aven't met my family, you don't know what it's like. _Please_."

Robin fixed him with a pleading look, the one that had once persuaded him to hypnotise Mr. and Mrs. Branagh into believing they were vampires and Vlad knew that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to refuse.

"Alright," he sighed, trying to mask the fact that he was always elated whenever Robin asked him to go anywhere with him, even if it was just to the shop to buy more sweets.

"Aw, thanks Vlad," Robin grinned at him and he couldn't help but smile back, "You're the greatest!"

**xXx**

"Aren't you going to go and 'ave a dance with your boyfriend, Robin?"

"He's not my boyfriend, Auntie Pat!" Robin shot Vlad an apologetic look. Vlad shrugged and smiled back; the only thing wrong, in his opinion, with people thinking they were a couple was that it was a reminder of the fact they weren't.

"Aw, that's a shame," she said, eyeing Vlad up appraisingly, "I was just saying to your mam how grown up you're getting." She smiled at Robin, "It'll be you next."

"I don't think so," Robin said, grimacing.

Auntie Pat patted him on the shoulder consolingly, "You'll get there." Oblivious to Robin's scowling she went on, "Why don't you boys go on up to the bar and get something to drink." She nudged Robin, "What your father doesn't know won't hurt him, eh?"

As she wandered away, mingling into the crowd, Robin shook his head, "See what I mean? I 'ave to put up with this _all _the time."

Vlad schooled his face into, what he hoped was, an understanding expression and followed the other boy to the bar. It didn't seem so bad.

**xXx**

"So what's your name then?"

"Vlad."

"Nice to meet you, Vlad," the bride offered him one carefully manicured hand and he shook it tentatively. "I like your suit, very smart."

"Thanks," he murmured in response, feeling uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, I won't bite!" She smiled, and Vlad sipped at his drink to hide the nerves that phrase always brought out in him. "So," she started, probing, "how long 'ave you been seeing Robin for then?"

"We've been friends ever since I moved to Stokely," Vlad said, only realising his mistake when the words were out of his mouth, when he caught sight of Robin making his way back from the buffet table.

She stood up and waved at Robin, calling "I've just been talking to your _boyfriend_, Robin!" as soon he got within hearing distance. "He's much too good for you."

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"_Robin_," she scolded, "Is that any way to treat a lovely young man like this?" She dropped a hand on Vlad's shoulder and it was his turn to give Robin an apologetic look. "Try being a bit nicer and it'll be you next."

Robin shook his head and dropped into his seat, passing Vlad a plate as she walked away. "I wish they'd stop saying that."

**xXx**

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your boyfriend then, Robin?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend, Uncle Pete," Robin sighed. "His name's Vlad and we're just friends."

_Worst Luck_ Vlad thought distractedly as he sipped at his drink, the alcohol starting to make his cheeks burn and his head feel muzzy. He turned slightly to watch the twins giving a performance on the dance floor that what it lacked in talent, it more than made up for in energy.

"You don't 'ave to pretend for my benefit, Robin, you know that," Uncle Pete said, leaning unsteadily against the empty chair next to Robin. "I always say that it doesn't matter who you love, so long as you love them." Robin shifted awkwardly and Vlad wished he could just ask Robin if there was any chance he could ever feel like that about him.

Mr. Branagh chose that moment to return from the bar, manoeuvring his way back to the table and sliding into his seat,

"I just heard they're having a bit of trouble with the toilets," he said, shaking his head, as he put their drinks down in front of them, "that's the problem with these big events. The volume of people using the flush mechanism-"

Robin leaned in close, drowning out the sound of Mr. Branagh's explanation and raising gooseflesh where his warm breath caressed the skin of Vlad's neck, "Imagine if you really did 'ave to marry into this."

Vlad kept his gaze on his glass, knowing he'd give too much away if he looked at Robin, but couldn't resist murmuring, "It'd be like a dream come true."

"Oi," Robin grinned and picked up his own glass, misreading – as usual – what he was trying to tell him, "No need to be that sarky!"

**xXx**

Robin was drunk by the time Auntie Pat had completed her circuit and was back upon them, Mrs. Branagh in tow. Vlad could tell from the way his speech was even faster than usual and the way his hand kept tapping in time to the music – the same cheesy chart hits he'd earlier stated he'd sooner ram the handle of his plastic fork down his ear than have to listen to for another ten minutes.

"Don't they make a lovely couple, Elizabeth?"

"I know," Mrs. Branagh nodded happily, ignoring the murderous expression on Robin's face. "I keep telling Graham it won't be long before we're watching these two get married!"

"Mam!" Robin hissed, "We're not going to get married."

"Oh, Robin," Mrs. Branagh tousled his hair and he scowled harder, "Don't be so miserable. I'm only teasing you."

Vlad was still trying to work out whether Mrs. Branagh had meant she was teasing Robin about getting married, or teasing Robin about getting married to _him_ when Auntie Pat put a hand around Robin's wrist, dragging him clean out of his seat,

"Come and 'ave a dance with your Auntie Pat."

Robin dug his heels in and looked terrified, one hand clinging to the back of his chair, "But Vlad will be on his –"

"Your boyfriend won't mind for one song," she smiled at Vlad, "will you, love?"

Vlad shook his head. What else could he do?

"He's not my boy-"

She pulled him again, the chair toppling with the force as she dragged Robin onto the dance floor, Mrs. Branagh following. Vlad righted the chair and rooted through Robin's jacket pocket for the other boy's mobile phone. This was simply too _special _a moment to go unrecorded.

**xXx**

Fifteen minutes and four songs later Robin was still on the dance floor, his movements having gone from embarrassed shuffling to some frenzied twisting that was giving Ian and Paul a run for their money.

Mrs. Branagh and Auntie Pat, who Vlad supposed_ had_ to be Mrs. Branagh's sister, returned to their table, sitting down and fixing him with a smile that made him want to run. It reminded him a little of his dad's hunting face.

"Why don't you go and join him?" Auntie Pat asked, encouragingly.

Mrs. Branagh went on, "I know he takes a while to get into the spirit of things, but he's alright when he gets going." She waved over to where Mr. Branagh was dancing out of synch with a faintly embarrassed looking Chloe before turning back to him, "He's just like his dad."

"Right," Vlad nodded, biting back his smirk and standing up. Robin would _hate_ that comparison.

**xXx**

"Vlad!" The welcoming grin on Robin's face was more than enough to compensate for having to dance, Vlad thought. When Robin curled warm fingers around his wrists and pulled him closer he found himself struggling to think of anything at all, beyond the fact that Robin was touching him, and smiling at him, and the certain knowledge that he was _never _going to let Renfield wash the shirt Robin had borrowed from him for the occasion.

Before he had chance to say anything in return the track was changing – something slow and soppy – and the twins were pulling faces and groaning, disappearing to their seats along with half the dance floor. Rather than follow their lead, as Vlad was expecting Robin to do, the other boy stared at him intently and pulled him closer still. When he showed no resistance Robin wrapped his hands around Vlad's waist, encouraging Vlad to put his own around the back of his neck.

Vlad looked up at him curiously, at the hot blush spreading across Robin's cheeks, his heart thudding in his chest.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the heat of Robin's hands through the material of his shirt making it difficult for Vlad not to just give in and crash his lips to Robin's. Instead he settled for stroking his fingers through the hair at the nape of Robin's neck, nervous excitement flooding through him at the way Robin let his eyes fall shut and tip his head forwards slightly, the grip on his waist tightening. And, then, Robin was brushing their lips together, soft and tentative, over and over again.

Finally, just when Vlad felt sure he'd die of anticipation; Robin increased the pressure and kissed him properly, clutching him tight and keeping him on his feet as the slick swipe of Robin's tongue against his own threatened to make his knees buckle. By the time they pulled apart for air the track had changed again, and the dance floor was teaming around them. He smiled up at Robin shyly and the taller boy took his hand, leading him through the crowd and back to their table.

**xXx**

"Aw, look at them, Auntie Elizabeth," the bride was back grinning down at them. "Don't they look cute?" Vlad glanced up at Robin – who looked embarrassed but otherwise unmoved – before settling his head back against Robin's shoulder, the other boy's arm wrapped around him possessively. He was so comfortable he never wanted to move again.

"Cute?" Ian said, pulling a face, "That's _Robin_ you're talking about."

Vlad sought Robin's free hand out with his own and twined their fingers together. Robin _was_ cute, so cute he could barely think straight half the time.

"It'll be them two next, Uncle G," the best man said, oblivious to the drink he was spilling over Ian's favourite shirt. Everyone looked at them, waiting for Robin's protest to the contrary. Nobody was more surprised than Vlad when Robin pressed a kiss to his temple,

"Yeah," Robin squeezed his hand, "Yeah, it will."


	7. Chapter 7

**[ **_**Prompt # 058. "Dinner"**_** ]**

"Ow! Be careful!" Robin whined, loud enough for Ian to hear it from the landing.

"You're the one who wanted me to do it," Vlad answered huffily. "If you'd just keep still it wouldn't hurt."

"Bruv," Ian whispered, grinning, "come and listen to this." He and Paul pressed up close to Robin's bedroom door.

"'Ow was I supposed to know you'd be so rough!?" Robin hissed and Paul sniggered, nudging Ian.

"I'm sorry," Vlad said, sounding contrite, "we can stop if you want."

Robin sniffed, "Don't be stupid! It took us ages to get this far."

"It'll be worth it," Vlad said solemnly, "I promise." Robin mumbled something indistinguishable and Vlad went on, obviously smiling, "You can do it to me later; be as rough as you want."

The twins shared a shocked look, Paul mouthing "_kinky_," to his brother before straightening up and banging on the door, "Mam says dinner's ready!"

"But we'll tell her you don't want any!" Ian added, grinning.

"'Ave fun!" Paul called sniggering before they both made their way downstairs, laughing.

**xXx**

"Why wouldn't I want any dinner?" Robin asked, frowning up at Vlad from his cross legged position on his bedroom carpet.

Vlad shrugged and shook his head, careful not to jar the comb he'd been trying to drag through Robin's gel encrusted hair and face his further wrath.

Robin just sighed and handed Vlad the hairspray he'd swiped from Chloe's room,

"I can't wait 'til they leave home."


	8. Chapter 8

**[ _Prompt # 045. "Moon"_ ]**

_**A/N:** *This is inspired by two things. "Police" challenge from **werepuppyblack** and my recent reading of "Salem's Lot" for the first time. It made me want to try and write in a different style to my normal 'less and less and less is more'... This is the result. So, technically, you can blame Stephen King for how bad it is! Lol._

_**"...we know they see, and hear, and speak... and they most certainly taste. Perhaps they also know discomfort, pain-"  
"And love?" Ben asked, looking straight ahead.  
"No," Jimmy answered. "I suspect that love is beyond them."**_  
_** - Salem's Lot; Stephen King.**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

_"Show us dealing, over."_

_"Do we 'ave to?" P.C. Brierley asks him anxiously, her face pale and taught in the moonlight. "That place gives me the creeps."_

_Silently, Robin agrees. It has been years since he had stepped foot in the place, longer still since he had done so willingly. Since he had finally been taught to fear the monster in his closet and the ghouls under his bed, the soulless eyes and corpse-cold fingers of the things that go bump in the night._

_Concentrating on the crunch of his heavy booted feet on the gravel driveway he says, "It'll just be kids, messing about."_

_No answer, only the dull crunch of two sets of hesitant feet. Step after reluctant step, like a condemned man making his final journey towards the scaffold._

**xXx**

Before - _before_ - he had seen the things he had seen; when vampires still filled him with nothing but awe and Stokely was nothing but a former mining town where nothing ever happened, Robin had loved to read.

Movies, he had once explained to Vlad, were alright but the books were always better. The printed descriptions conjuring up scenes in his head more vivid - more real - than anything that could be recreated on the silver screen. Vlad had asked him if they frightened him, if he had nightmares afterwards.

Robin had just smiled back at him and shook his head.

There had been nothing to fear.

**xXx**

_The great oak door, rotted in places but still just as imposing as he remembers, falls open at his touch. P.C. Brierley mutters something next to him in the still night air and it takes all of his courage to step over the threshold. The plastic of his flashlight slides against his palm and, when P.C. Brierly flicks out her asp, he near jumps out of his skin in fright._

**xXx**

Robin doesn't read anymore. The images they conjure up in his mind are too vivid, too real.

Instead he sits and watches movies. Jewel red blood and cries of ecstasy at the touch of knife sharp fangs to dewy, willing flesh. They make him feel safe, secure. In the movies the monsters only want the beautiful people. And at daylight they melt away into the shadows.

Sometimes he can almost convince himself that there's nothing to fear.

**xXx**

_His ascent up the cold stone staircase is slow, painfully slow - not because of the caution instilled at police training college - but because he can scarcely draw breath. His heart beats a wild rhythm in his chest and the beam of his flashlight streaks arcs of white, non-sensical and random, picking out the cobwebs and insects and the dark wet moss clinging to the ancient walls._

_It isn't until he reaches the landing that he consciously makes the connection and clenches his hand tighter in hope of curbing its trembling._

**xXx**

The day of Jonno Van Helsing's funeral had been the worst of Robin's entire life. Worse than the day Gary Watts and Richard Price had pushed him down the stairs of the art block and broken his leg. Worse even than the day Vlad had told him, eyes ringed red and voice hoarse, that he was going away and never coming back.

That one didn't even compare.

Bitter cold, the roads had been icy and treacherous. The pallbearers had been grey-faced and sombre. Van Helsing had broken down at the graveside and sobbed. Robin's own mother had gripped tightly at his shoulder, murmuring over and over again who could have done such a terrible thing to such a nice boy as Jonno.

It had been the worst day of his life.

He had known exactly who had held Jonno down, kicking and thrashing and begging for his life. Who had torn out his jugular, his eyes still staring blankly at the crescent moon abover their heads, even as the blood around him congealed and cooled.

He had been there.

**xXx**

_It takes him three attempts before he finally gets his hand to co-operate and open the door to the room he had once known better than his own. Even as the hinges creak, as the first glimpse of dirt and neglect is revealed, he already knows what is waiting for him._

**xXx**

His first day in uniform had been the best day of Robin's life. Better than the day Gary Watts and Richard Price had been expelled from school for truanting double maths one too many times. Better even than the day Vlad had first told him, cheeks flushed and voice trembling, that he loved him.

That one didn't even compare.

Bright and sunny, the fresh spring air had made Stokely seem alive again. The verges had been awash with the yellow of daffodils and his mentor, P.C. Hughes, had told him that they were there to make a difference, that they were there to stop what had happened to Jonno happening to anyone else.

It had been the best day of his life.

He had truly believed it was that simple. That it was in the past, that he could make amends for standing by helpless and frozen as Jonno's life drained away.

He should have known better.

**xXx**

_"I've missed you," Vlad says, voice soft and fingers gentle as they trail across his cheek. Not that Robin can think of anything but the unnatural cold of the touch and the fact his flashlight has fallen to the floor. The only light the gleam of moonlight through the shuttered window. He clenches his eyes hut and wills for it all to go away._

**xXx**

Robin likes to think of Vlad as the boy he was. Clear blue eyes and friendly smiles that lit up his entire face. Likes to remember the companionable silences and the raucous laughter. These are the memories he keeps nestled between protective layers of tissue paper in his mind, like the important photographs in his parents' leather bound albums. To be taken out and admired then put away carefully. They are too delicate to withstand frequent handling so he does his best not to think of Vlad at all.

**xXx**

_  
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Vlad asks, voice betraying more emotion than Robin had believed him capable of, "You must know I'd never hurt you."_

_Robin thinks of Jonno, of growing up and leaving the straight forward certainty of youth for the constant fear of adulthood, and tells himself over and over again that it's not really happening._

**xXx**

Robin can't help but think of Vlad as the man - the monster - he is. Sharp, glistening teeth and cold black eyes. The bloodthirsty sneer that fills his nightmares and makes him glad of the privacy of his flat where he can thrash and scream and wake up in tears without arousing suspicion. He's tried to bury the memories, to torch them from his mind, but he can't. They consume him to the point where he believes those eyes are fixed on the back of his neck when he walks home alone at night. That the ghostly chill of fingers skimming his forehead as he lies in bed is something more than a bad dream. More than anything they convince him that it would have been better had he never met Vlad at all.

**xXx**

_  
"Rob? You in there?"_

_Artificial light streams through the crack in the door and Robin finally opens his eyes, his muscles relaxing in desperate relief at the welcome sound of P.C. Brierley's voice. For an instant his gaze locks with Vlad's and he's shocked to see clear blue where he expected nothing but black._

_"I love you," Vlad whispers, voice cracking on the final syllable, before disappearing and leaving him stood alone, staring at nothing.  
_

**xXx**

That night, for the first time in so long he can almost no longer remember, he isn't afraid.


	9. Chapter 9

**[ Prompt # 034. "Not Enough" First bit is set after the ep where Robin pretends to be Ingrid's fiance... ]**

_**"Let euery wiht / have this in remembraunce.**_

_**Who lengest liveth / most shal sofren woo." – Danse Macabre, MS. Lansdowne.**_

"Will your father try and marry you off too?" Robin asks suddenly. _Weirdly_ Vlad thinks because they've spent the last half hour colouring in pictures of cloud formations for geography. He can't see how the two are linked.

"I mean," Robin blushes and fidgets with the pencil in his hand, "I'd do the same thing for you. If you wanted me to."

"What? Dress up in a cape?" Vlad shakes his head, "You do that anyway."

Robin looks at him for a moment longer, his gaze heavy and intense and full of _something_ that Vlad can't interpret. Vlad is glad when Robin turns back to his chart, those unsettling dark eyes focussed on something other than him.

**xXx**

It is only by chance Vlad remembers that day, muted by the passage of time. In the event it was not his father, but the Council elders who chose for him. A beautiful vampiress with all the right connections. A bloodthirsty monster who despises him more thoroughly than all his other enemies combined.

The way it should be, he is told.

Throughout the ceremony he keeps his eyes on the flagstone floor and wishes there was some way out of it. Wishes he had lost his battle with his mirror image and succumbed so that he just wouldn't care. He thinks of his life – when it had truly been _life_ – and of Robin and dark unsettling eyes boring into his own and, suddenly, he understands.

By then it is too late.

**xXx**

Sometimes Vlad sits at the graveside. Shrouded in the darkness, the still night air stinging his flesh, he _remembers_. Dark eyes and corpse-white skin. He wonders if Robin would have looked any different, if it were possible for Robin to have looked any paler as they – the people who had forgotten _him_ – trailed past to pay their last respects.

Sometimes he wishes he had understood sooner. Had been there to prevent it happening. Sometimes he weeps and howls and clutches at the cold ground like it can give him back as easily as it took him away.

Other times he recognises how futile it is. How futile it _would_ have been. He can scarcely bear to have lost Robin alone to time. To think that Robin would have had to lose _everyone_ is sobering. Enough to force him to leave before the sun's callous rays can touch him.

But not enough to keep him from coming back.


	10. Chapter 10

**[ Prompt #**** 002 "Middles" Inspired by the "Don't Know Much About History" Kinkmeme over at the_pornthenon on LJ. I say inspired cos, clearly, there's no kink! =D But there **_**is **_**the tedious life of medieval peasants… ]**

"Every man has his station in life, Robin," Mr. Branagh said, tugging on his soiled work tunic, "and you are destined to follow in my footsteps. To perform the same job as my father, and his father, and his father before him."

Robin wrinkled his nose as the twins emerged from the darkened corner of their hut, similarly attired. They seemed entirely oblivious to the smell, laughing and joking about which of them the pretty daughter of John the Reeve – who owned his own donkey, three goats _and_ a pig – would consent to marry. He snorted; as if either of them stood a chance.

Mr. Branagh, fastening his work belt, went on, "All this talk of leaving the village and wanting," he waved a hand as if it might encourage the flow of words, "_more_. Well, it isn't natural." Mr. Branagh shook his head. "Some men are born into this world to be great kings, noble knights, pious monks… But the likes of me and you," he fixed his scowling son with a pointed look, "can only pray for the Lord to burden us with enough work to make us appreciate the glory of the afterlife."

"What you're saying," Robin said, glaring at his sister – old enough and comely enough to be wed and out of his way – who was sniggering behind her cupped hand, "is that I 'ave to dig ditches until I'm lucky enough to drop dead?"

"That's the spirit, Robin!" Mr. Branagh clapped him on the shoulder, "Go and tell your mother not to worry and that we'll be back by nightfall."

**xXx**

"This is so exciting, Vlad!" The Count beamed at his son, "Tonight you will bite your first peasant. You never forget your first; when I was – "

"Nobody is interested in your pathetic attempts at vampirism," Ingrid said disdainfully, not bothering to look up from her carefully transcribed copy of '_St. Patrick's Purgatory'_. "The peasants couldn't fear you any less if they tried."

The Count grimaced, "Silence, you ungrateful wench! I should have had you hanged for a witch when I still had chance!"

Ingrid shrugged nonchantly, "Pity, that."

"Dad," Vlad cut in, trying to ease the situation, "couldn't I just have a sort-of _practice _bite tonight? I mean, there's no rush is there? The peasants will all still be there tomorrow."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Ingrid smirked, smoothing out the creases in her blood red kirtle as she stood. "Don't wait up." She grinned, flashing a hint of pearly white fang before disappearing.

"Good riddance!" The Count yelled uselessly to thin air. Vlad just heaved a sigh. How he envied the peasants their normality.

**xXx**

"Help!" Robin shivered, trying to gain a grip on the slippery sides of the ditch wall, "Ian! Paul! Can anyone hear me!?" Cold, wet and exhausted, he gave up, sliding down to sit against the solid mud.

He hoped this was some prank of the twins' and that they would emerge at any moment, and pull him up and out. He could endure their taunting and laughing if it meant he got to go home to hearth and broth. The thought of food made him still more miserable. What if he was stuck in the ditch all night? His stomach ached in protest.

The cry of a wolf sounded across the still night air and it was all he could to suppress another shiver. Suddenly the tales of strange creatures that prowled the darker hours no longer seemed so enthralling. He almost wished he'd heeded old Van Helsing's warnings on listening to them in the first place. But, then, Van Helsing was not at all right in the mind so, what did he know?

Wrapping his arms about himself he wished for the safety of home.

**xXx**

"Ingrid!" Vlad hissed, "What are you doing?"

His sister sneered at him, obviously irritated; "What does it look like I'm doing, zombie snot? I'm _trying_ to feed."

Vlad shook his head. "There's a perfectly edible sheep over there. You can't just go around killing people."

"They'll be glad of it," Ingrid said, assuming her 'I know everything there is to know about everything pose', "Do you know what the peasants say?" Vlad kept quiet; he didn't know. "I have wished after death full oft."

"Yeah," Vlad said sarcastically, at least he knew the quote, "and then they say 'Although I would have fled him now.'"

Ingrid shrugged, "I don't care either way."

Before she could lower her head again Vlad squirmed in front of her, protecting the peasant she had under her spell, "I'm not going to let you hurt them."

Ingrid stared him down for long moment, but he kept his gaze steady and, finally, she backed down. "_Fine_. I'll take the sheep. But you owe me."

**xXx**

Vlad, having watched the boys awake and return to the path, was about to leave when he heard scuffling. He kept still and strained his ears for the faint noise, following it to the edge of a deep ditch. Carefully, he peered over the edge.

It was another boy. But this one, although dressed in rags, looked like no peasant he had ever seen. His skin was so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. He could have been a crowned prince or, he thought, another such as himself. The boy shifted his foot again, the source of the noise he had heard.

Making a decision, Vlad got still closer to the edge, clinging with one as he slid down, and landing with a soft thump on his feet.

"That was a stupid thing to do," the boy said indignantly, in an accent so broad Vlad reassessed the likelihood of his being a peasant. "Now we'll both be stuck down 'ere." Vlad didn't answer; he had never been this close to a breather before. He could hear the boy's heartbeat and, in awe, he touched his fingertips to the boy's throat, feeling the rush of blood under his skin.

The boy's eyes widened, but he made no attempt to move away. "Who are you?"

Vlad's gaze flickered from his fingers – and the pulse of blood beneath them – to dark eyes and back again, "Vladimir Dominus Imperitus Electus Dracula. But you can call me Vlad. Who are you?" He finished, meeting the other boy's gaze again.

"Robin," he paused and smiled lopsidedly, "You can call me Robin." Robin's gaze wandered to the ornate fastening of his cape and he arched his neck slightly. "You can, if you want to."

The movement flooded his senses and Vlad clenched his eyes shut for a long moment, fighting against the urge to sink his fangs into the proffered flesh. "You're supposed to be afraid of me," he said, eyes still shut.

"You're supposed to want to bite me," Robin countered, sounding hurt.

"I don't want to bite anyone," Vlad said proudly, not least because he had controlled himself, "I wish I were normal like you."

Robin pulled a face, "You really don't, trust me."

"Vladimir!" A voice rang out.

Vlad grimaced. "That's my dad." He went on miserably, "He says you can't change your destiny."

"Sounds like my dad," Robin said with an air of long suffering.

"_Vladimir_!"

"I really have to go." Vlad gave the strange breather one last apologetic look before making to flit, only for warm fingers to curl around his forearm. He looked at Robin in shock.

"You're not leaving me 'ere in this ditch!"

Vlad paused, an idea forming as the sound of his father's footsteps came ever closer, and murmured,

"We could always _pretend_…"

**xXx**

"What are you so happy about?" Chloe asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing," Robin replied, smiling to himself.

"I thought you'd still be sulking that you can't leave Stokely."

Robin grinned, "Something better's come up." He touched his fingers unthinkingly to the purpling mark on his neck, "_Much_ better."


	11. Chapter 11

**[ _Prompt #098. "Writer's Choice": "Diary clichés" It's been done before, and better. But, hey, I'm a historian. I make no claims to originality! =] _Also I'm gonna put this message on everything I post for the next fortnight or so: I'm doing a Robin/Vlad essay type thing for ship_manifesto over at LJ – all in the hope of drumming up some fandom interest. I've asked on LJ, but it's pretty dead there, so I'll ask here too. Why do you like the pairing? Which canon moment got you hooked? What do you like / dislike about fandom? Are there any particular fics / art / fanvids you'd recommend to someone new to the pairing? Etc, etc, etc. Anything else you'd like to say about it? Anything at all? Send me a message, comment here, comment over at my LJ, e-mail me… whatever. I'm really curious and it'd be cool to have more to incorporate than just my own opinions. ]**

"Robin!" Mr. Branagh's voice rose up from the foot of the stairs and Robin grimaced, not bothering to look up from his sketchbook as he yelled back,

"What!?"

Vlad winced. He still hadn't got used to how sensitive his hearing was now he was a 'real' vampire.

"Come and put this mess away!" There was a pause. "Do I have to come up there?"

"Alright!" Robin sighed and glowered and made a show of throwing his sketchbook down in a fit of temper. "Be back now," he muttered in Vlad's general direction before storming from the room, his heavy footsteps on the stairs reverberating around Vlad's skull.

Fed up of Robin's magazine collection – vampires, vampires, crime, vampires, weird bands he couldn't pronounce the names of, more vampires – Vlad reached for Robin's sketchbook. He had to admit that Robin was pretty talented. It was just a shame he only used it to document the morbid and depressing. As he pulled it closer he dislodged Robin's pencil, causing it to roll under the bed.

He hesitated for a moment. Who knew _what_ Robin might have under there? Six month old half eaten sandwiches and festering socks seemed the most likely candidates. Gingerly he stuck a hand into the space, carefully flexing his fingers in the hope of avoiding anything that should come with a health warning. Instead of the pencil his fingers curled around the spine of a book. Curious, he pulled it out into the dim light of Robin's bedroom.

The single word on the cover caught his attention and, at the sound of Robin's returning footsteps, had him shoving the book into his coat pocket rather than back under the bed. Had him looking away with guilt as Robin searched fruitlessly for his pencil, eventually giving in and getting another. Had his gut flipping with nervous anticipation every time he thought about it.

He had Robin's _diary_.

**xXx**

"Mam!" Robin wailed, eyes slightly wild, the back of his shirt collar sticking up and his hair uncombed, as if he'd not had time to get dressed properly. "Have you been _tidying_ my room again!?"

"Why's that, love?" Mrs. Branagh asked placidly, looking up from her breakfast. The rest of his family watched him curiously.

"There's something – a book – missing," Robin answered, not wanting everyone to know it was his diary. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone seeing what he'd written in it.

Paul tsked and grinned, "Rookie mistake, that. Keeping it under your mattress, were you?"

Ian sniggered.

"I'm sure it'll turn up," Mrs. Branagh said cluelessly. "It's always in the last place you look. Wasn't I saying that about those scout badges yesterday, Graham?"

"Hmmm," Mr. Branagh agreed around a mouthful of breakfast, "And all the time, they were in my kit box." His father shook his head, as if at the mysteries of life.

Mrs. Branagh smiled at him and Robin scowled back, glowering at each family member in turn before storming towards the door. They were all useless. When he had to return less than a minute later to collect his school bag from the kitchen floor, the twins howling with laughter, it just cemented what he'd already known.

Today was going to be a _bad_ day.

**xXx**

"What have you got there?" Ingrid asked, as intrusively as ever, busy wrenching the legs off some – still horribly alive – mice. Vlad shuddered.

"It's none of your business."

Ingrid dunked the twitching limb in sherbet, sucking it back off and nodding, uncaring of the look of disgust on Vlad's face. "Give it here," she said, swiping hold of it before Vlad could stop her. She held it up and smirked,

"You keep a diary? What's in it, an ode to Branagh in 47 verses?"

Vlad shifted uncomfortably. "It's not mine." Ingrid smirked wider which only made him feel worse. He felt guilty enough as it was. He still hadn't opened it, unsure why he had even taken it in the first place. Robin might never forgive him if he found out.

Ingrid had no such qualms and dropped her mangled rodent, wiping her hands off on his jacket which was lying on the table, and opened the book,

"_It's __**so**__ unfair_," she started, overemphasising every word, "_the twins never need permission to stay out late. And Chloe never wants to anyway. So why do __**I**__ have to? I'll hardly ever get to see Vlad now_."

Ingrid looked up at him and said, mockingly, "Aw. Branagh misses you too."

"Just give it back," Vlad said, as authoritatively as he could. Mr. and Mrs. Branagh had been something approaching strict on the subject of nocturnal visits ever since that whole incident with Great Uncle Armand and Robin's broken arm. He generally just tried not to think about it.

"Ah-ah," Ingrid held her hand out signalling he should be quiet, the huge grin on her face suggesting she'd just seen something potentially embarrassing or ruinous to his person. Vlad glanced at her again and came to the conclusion it was probably both. "Don't you want to hear what Branagh's been writing about _you_?"

He didn't need to answer.

**xXx**

It was lunchtime and he was putting the finishing touches to his latest piece of artwork when it finally dawned on him exactly where his diary was. It was so obvious now he thought about it. So obvious he was tempted to hole up in a corner somewhere and cry.

No wonder Vlad had left early the night before.

Horrified, his stomach churning, he wondered how much Vlad might have read, and whether there was _any_ chance he'd still be speaking to him when he next saw him.

"Robin, are you alright?" Mr. Perkins was peering at him with a concerned expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I," Robin started, dropping his paintbrush and apron carelessly, making for the door, "I don't feel well."

**xXx**

"He didn't really write that," Vlad said, slightly shocked. "You're lying!"

"You can look for yourself if you're that concerned," Ingrid said dismissively, throwing the book onto the table in front of him.

Vlad grabbed at it – just in case Ingrid changed her mind – and read it through again. There, in Robin's spidery script, were the exact words Ingrid had just read out.

'_Life without Vlad doesn't bear thinking about. What would I do? I dreamt about him again last night. Why doesn't he just realise? Vampires always do on TV; they just __**know**__ when people like them. It's probably better that he doesn't. He'd only hate me._'

He read it again and then again just to make sure, before turning to the next page, intent on discovering if it had just been a moment of madness on Robin's part, or if he really did like him.

By the time he'd read every single entry he was certain. Robin liked him. Robin liked him a lot. In fact, Robin liked him so much – and had written about exactly how he'd like this to manifest itself in so much detail – that Vlad was glad Ingrid had disappeared down into the crypt some time ago. He was never likely to live down getting _that_ kind of reaction in her presence.

Glancing at his watch Vlad made a decision. Robin would be home in a few hours, and he was going to be waiting for him.

**xXx**

Robin banged on the door again wondering if this was proof that he'd finally lost his mind. What if he was wrong? How was he going to explain it to Vlad? 'I skipped school to come and get my diary, that you don't have, off you. Come round later and I'll get Ian to let us have a go on _Vampire Orgy Six_.' Something told him Vlad wouldn't be fobbed off so easily.

He shifted from foot to foot anxiously, someone _had_ to be in. Damage limitation and all that. It felt like he'd be sick with nerves if he had to wait any longer to find out if Vlad was planning to ignore him for eternity. With a hint of hysteria he wondered if Vlad was ignoring him already, if he knew it was _him_ at the door and just couldn't bear the sight of him. He lifted his fist to bang again when the door was jerked back.

"Robin?" Vlad looked surprised and Robin supposed it was a fitting reaction. His dad would kill him if he found out he'd been mooching off school. He didn't want to give him any more reasons to prattle on about the advantages of a plumbing apprenticeship as further education. After a moment Vlad stepped back, suddenly all too aware of the glare of the afternoon sun Robin thought, and said, "Come in."

The door slammed behind him and Robin followed Vlad up to his bedroom, more nervous than ever. He couldn't tell whether Vlad had read it or not, he wasn't acting any differently as far as he could tell. When they entered the room however he caught sight of it immediately, lying on Vlad's bed. Vlad followed his gaze and stammered out,

"I'm really sorry, Robin. I know, I shouldn't have taken it. I just," he took a breath – out of habit rather than necessity Robin thought dimly through a wave of panic – "couldn't help myself."

"Did you read it?" Robin asked, the last vestiges of hope shining through.

Vlad couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah."

"Right." Robin managed to croak out, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. "Right." He repeated, looking around helplessly. This would probably be the last time he set foot in Vlad's room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping it looked like he had a cold rather than what it was – an attempt to stop himself crying in front of Vlad. "I should probably go then."

He started for the door without waiting for Vlad's response. If he were lucky – very lucky – he might even be able to keep it together until he got home and could lock himself in his bedroom for the better part of a week.

**xXx**

"Robin, wait!" Vlad pleaded, squirming his way between Robin and his bedroom door to block the other boy's exit. He couldn't just let Robin walk away thinking the worst of him. Not now that he knew Robin liked him back. Robin stopped but kept his gaze on the floor, refusing to look at him and Vlad swallowed. "Please forgive me. I'll never do anything like that again."

"Forgive you?" Robin asked quietly, finally fixing shocked dark eyes on his face. "But didn't you read what I wrote?"

"I know," it was Vlad's turn to look away, ashamed of himself. "You have every right to be angry with me," he said firmly, wanting Robin to understand that he _knew_ how badly he had acted. "But," he risked a glance up at the face he had spent long hours doing nothing but committing to memory, "If I hadn't I would never have the courage to do this."

Cautiously, timidly, he pressed a chaste kiss to Robin's lips, moving back almost instantly. Robin stared at him like he had just grown an extra head, and Vlad wondered if somehow, in spite of everything he had read, Robin really didn't reciprocate the feelings he had spent years trying to fight.

And then – suddenly – Robin's mouth was on his again, his hands pushing at his shoulders, pushing him back against the solid wood of his door. The feeling was everything Vlad had ever dreamed it would be, and more. Robin, taller and broader through the shoulders – regardless of his abhorrence of anything that resembled sport – than Vlad felt he was ever likely to be, pressed his advantage, dominating him in a way that sent thrills of excitement through him.

Robin was so _hot_, his fingers burning where they brushed across the stretch of skin at the edge of his shirt, his breath warm and moist where it fanned across his face, Robin having to break away to breathe. Vlad clutched at him, revelling in the fact that _he_ had done that to Robin. That it was him who had caused Robin's breath to come in ragged pants, his eyes to darken and his pulse to quicken. He shut his eyes for a moment, fighting back the surge of want that went through him at the thought of the latter, clinging as close to Robin as he could.

The other boy understood, wrapping his arms around him and leading him carefully until they were sat on Vlad's bed. Vlad shivered as he pressed his nose against Robin's throat, both glad and frustrated that his shirt collar was preventing him from getting any closer.

"You can if you want to." Robin whispered, his fingers pulling at the knot of his tie and Vlad knew he should stop him even as he kept still. Robin wrenched at his collar, pulling the button free and exposing the long pale column of his throat. Vlad tore his gaze away, with difficulty, and tilted his head up to try and read Robin's expression. Robin returned his gaze seriously, "I trust you."

Vlad touched his fingers to Robin's throat tentatively, reverently. He knew that Robin trusted him. It was almost as if he could _feel_ it.

The problem was that he highly doubted whether he could trust himself.

**xXx**

Robin waited with baited breath for Vlad to make his decision. It was a long shot – a very long shot – because this was _Vlad_, and Vlad would sooner live like a monk than risk hurting someone, but he'd still had to try. He knew Vlad would never even break the skin. Vlad had more self-control than anyone he'd ever met.

Cool fingers carefully traced across his throat and it was all he could do not to arch his neck back and _beg_ Vlad to bite him. Finally, what seemed like an eternity later, Vlad pressed equally cool lips to the feverish skin of his neck, raising goose bumps. "Promise you'll stop me if it hurts," Vlad murmured against him, making Robin squirm closer to his touch.

"I promise."

Vlad kept still for a long moment, until Robin was sure he couldn't stand it any longer, and then pressed a chaste kiss to his pulse point. Then another. And another. He trailed kisses up to his jawbone and back again, his fingers tracing patterns against his side as Robin shifted restlessly, manoeuvring them so that they were lying back against Vlad's pillows. When Vlad started to suck wetly at his throat he arched upwards, eyes clenched shut, and clutched desperately at Vlad's shoulders, pulling him on top of him.

He could feel the scrape of Vlad's fangs against the side of his neck as he sucked harder, feel how close Vlad was to losing control in the way he was trembling against him, the way he mauling at his shirt in an effort to expose more skin. Reluctantly he pushed Vlad off – there'd really be no way to explain a sudden propensity to smoulder in sunlight, not until he left home at any rate. Vlad blinked dazedly up at him, a faint trace of a blush on his pale cheeks, and Robin couldn't help but grin at the way the other boy's fangs were ruining his look of dishevelled innocence.

"Was I hurting you?"

Robin shook his head. "No." He shifted so he could sit back, dimly wondering how he was going to explain losing half his shirt buttons to his mam. At Vlad's questioning look he added, "That was the problem."

Vlad smirked back and settled against him, squirming uncomfortably as he did. Scrabbling behind him with one arm he caught hold of the offending object. "Your diary," he said, offering it out to Robin.

"It's alright, you can keep it." Robin kissed Vlad's cheek, liking the way the other boy settled closer to him, "I don't need it anymore."

Not now he had the real thing.


	12. Chapter 12

**[ **_**Prompt: Writer's Choice - "Fun"**_** ]**

"Vlad!" The Count's voice echoed throughout the castle, "Vlaaaaaaad!"

Vlad restrained himself – just – from stomping his foot in frustration and made his way down the stairs of the crypt. What he saw once he got there had him shaking his head. The Count was propped up in a half sitting position, surrounded by pillows and blankets. To his right was the television, Renfield having strained muscles he hadn't known he had carrying it down to him. To his left was a small table full of small jars of blood, Renfield sat next to it, head lolling as he snored. Vlad pulled a face,

"_What?_"

"Ah, yes, there you are." The Count frowned and elbowed the pillow behind him into a more comfortable position. "About time!" He gestured at the television, "Change the tele-vision announcement, there's a good boy."

"Dad," Vlad started testily, "We've been through this." He stormed forward and snatched up the remote control from where it lay on the coverlet. "You can turn the TV over with _this_. You can even ask Renfield to do it." He jabbed a finger in Renfield's direction. "You don't need me to come and do it for you!"

The Count peered at the remote control for a moment; raising an eyebrow as he realised Vlad was telling the truth. Vlad turned to leave only to be called back,

"Yes, well, never mind about that. Don't you want to keep your father company?"

Vlad threw up his hands in exasperation. "_No!"_ He sighed, "I _want_ to go and see Robin."

"But I'm _dying!"_ The Count cried mournfully, coughing into his fist. "I'm not long for this world, I'm fading away… I can feel death's bony hand reaching for me!"

Vlad counted to ten in his head, trying to control his temper. "You're not dying," he said in clipped tones, "you're already dead."

The Count carried on as if he hadn't heard. "If only I had known about it sooner. There's so much I haven't done. I've never danced naked in the blood of a nubile virgin, Vlad!"

"Thanks for that image, dad." Vlad ground out, "Anything else before I go?"

The Count coughed again, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like something out of the old films Robin insisted they watch. "I shan't be here when you return. There will be nothing but dust lining this coffin. The earthly remains of the most handsome vampire to ever stalk this cold, barren world."

"Right," Vlad glanced at his watch, "that's great. Try not to make too much of a mess, I'll be home by twelve."

"Vlad!" The Count watched him go in shock, "_Vladimir_!"

"Oh, is daddy feeling poorly?" Ingrid asked in mock concern the second he emerged from the stairwell. "Is little Vladdy-kins going to nurse him all better?"

Vlad glared at her, "I'm going out. Can't you just tell him you were joking?"

"No," Ingrid said simply, toeing the bloodless pig carcass they'd found the Count with at breakfast. She smirked, waving a copy of the _Stokely Gazette_ in front of his face emblazoned with the headline 'Swine Flu Claims Life',

"I'm having too much fun!"


	13. Chapter 13

**[ _Prompt # 055. "Spirit"_ ]**

"I got here first!" Paul gestured at the sprig of mistletoe hanging above them.

"No, bruv," Ian nudged Paul harshly, causing him to almost lose his footing, "_I _was here first."

"Boys," Ingrid interrupted, a scheming smirk breaking across her face. "There are plenty of kisses to go round."

The twins stopped bickering instantly and grinned at each other.

"Now," Ingrid commanded, "Close your eyes." Both boys did so obediently. Ingrid gripped each of their wrists and tugged gently, "Now turn to face me." They did so eagerly, facing each other with Ingrid sandwiched in-between them. She stepped away and reveled in the moment before finishing,

"Kiss away."

Paul shuffled forward clumsily; Ian reached out a hand and blindly placed it on his brother's shoulder. Ingrid snorted into her hand in amusement, settling down into the Branagh's colourful sofa to watch the scene unfold.

Ian pulled Paul closer carefully, Paul's hand coming up to curl around the back of his brother's neck.

"I'm waiting," Ingrid said, voice strained with the effort not to laugh.

The twins needed no further prompting, mouths sliding together in a display that made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in finesse. Paul brought his other hand up to clutch at Ian's shoulder, angling his head to kiss deeper when two faces appeared in the open doorway.

"Oh my God." Robin said in shock, before turning to Vlad and grinning, "Quick, where's your phone?"

Vlad scowled at his sister, "Ingrid!"

"What?" Ingrid replied, looking smug. At the sound of her voice the twins pulled apart in horror.

"I just –" Paul stuttered.

Ian looked pale, "We just – "

"With _you_." Paul finished, hand flying to his mouth.

"I'm going to be sick they said in unison," pushing Vlad and Robin out of the way and pounding up the stairs, towards the bathroom.

"You were right, Vlad." Ingrid said casually, swiping up a fashion magazine from the coffee table, uncaring of the murderous expression on her brother's face. "This visit _has _helped me get in the festive spirit."


	14. Chapter 14

**[ _Not sure which prompt I'm gonna go with yet… really need to update my table cos I'm forgetting which ones I've done. *hangs head* This was inspired by Automatic Apple's Vlad / Robin fic, Naive. Quote:_ " ****When Robin's brothers wound them up about being "Gay", Vlad thought that being too happy was a bad thing in Britain, when the boys at school boasted about the girls they'd "had", Vlad looked on bemused. He had later asked Robin if, when they said "had" they meant "Had round for tea" " _Hehe._ ]**

"I'm not a virgin!"

"Come off it," Paul said, shaking his head, "You're obviously a virgin."

Ian nodded, "Who'd sleep with you?" He pulled a face at the thought, clearly disgusted.

"Loads of people, actually!" Robin spat back, folding his arms across his chest and sulking.

"Like who?" Paul asked, sharing an incredulous look with his twin brother.

"Like," Robin paused, "well," unable to think of anyone he snapped, "loads of people!"

Ian shook his head, "Face it, Robin. You're a loser. Nobody is _ever_ going to sleep with you." Paul laughed and the pair high-fived.

"Boys," Mrs. Branagh called from the kitchen, "Stop being so horrible to your brother." She emerged to stand in the living room doorway, "You should follow Robin's example. Wait." She smiled at Robin, oblivious to the discomfort she'd just caused him, before disappearing. The twins fell about laughing.

Vlad watched the way Robin blushed, hurt writ clear all across his expressive face and came to a decision. "I've slept with Robin." Robin gaped at him, jaw working but no sound emerging.

Paul laughed harder, "Yeah, right."

"No, I'm being serious." Vlad took a deep breath, feeling his own blush burn across his cheeks, "Me and Robin have slept together." The twins stared at him in open mouthed shock, laughter forgotten.

"You?" Paul managed.

Ian shook his head, "and him?" Vlad nodded solemnly, placing a hand on Robin's arm. Robin wrenched his arm away, staring at Vlad as if he were deranged.

"We 'aven't!" Robin finally forced out, tone desperate. "He's lying!"

The looks on the twins' faces made it clear: it was too late for denials.

**xXx**

"What did you do that for!?" Robin yelled at Vlad the instant his bedroom door was shut behind him. He paced the room, "I can't believe you just did that." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, "Do you have _any_ idea what you've just done!?"

Vlad watched the display anxiously. He hated to see Robin upset. He hated it even more when he was the cause of it. "I was only trying to help. I thought you'd be happy."

"_Happy!?"_ Robin snapped, looking anything but. "_Why_ would I be happy that you just told my brothers I'm _gay_!?" He paused, balling his hands into fists in frustration, "You're supposed to be my friend, why would you lie like that?" Robin sank down onto the foot of his bed, head in his hands.

"I didn't say you were gay," Vlad said frowning. Because, he hadn't. Maybe Robin was just angry about the implicit nature of the thing. Maybe he didn't want Ian and Paul to think he'd be _happy_ about having slept with Vlad. He hadn't really thought it through. "You looked embarrassed," he said by way of explanation, thinking of the way Robin's cheeks had coloured when the twins had implied he was still a virgin. "I didn't think it would matter _who_ you had slept with." He laughed nervously, "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Robin stared at him incredulously. "Vlad, you're a guy."

"Yeah," Vlad started slowly, confused, "I know." He wished he understood what Robin's point was. He felt like this so much of the time, like everyone else was talking another language that he only understood the gist of, never the intricacies.

"Guys don't sleep with other guys!" Robin told him, with just a hint of hysteria, when Vlad failed to say anything else.

"They don't?" Vlad pondered it for a minute. They certainly did in Transylvania. Aloud he asked, "Why not?"

"Because - ," Robin waved a hand agitatedly, "Because they just don't!" He looked even paler than usual, his skin almost translucent in the gloom of his bedroom. Vlad thought he looked beautiful but, bearing the current conversation in mind, decided it better if he kept it to himself.

Robin went on miserably, "They're going to tell everyone. I can never show my face again." He looked at the window, "How far away from Stokely do you think I could get with," he rooted around in his pocket, squinting at the loose change he found, "four pound, twenty seven pence?" He shook his head, murmuring to himself, "Not far enough."

"Robin," Vlad started tentatively, "don't you think you're being a bit over dramatic?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Robin asked snarkily. "Everyone's going to laugh at me – at us! Nobody will ever speak to us again."

Vlad frowned, "They don't anyway."

"That," Robin glared at him murderously, "is not the point." There was a tense silence that stretched out for long moments before Robin finally asked, "Won't your dad be mad if he finds out?"

"No," Vlad answered, shrugging. "He'd love it if I," he hooked his fingers in the air, "seduced a helpless breather."

"I'm not helpless!"

Vlad shot him a pointed look, "I haven't seduced you either."

"Oh, yeah." They lapsed into silence again.

"You're not really mad at me, are you?" Vlad asked when he could stand it no longer. "I didn't know it was a bad thing. I just," he shrugged, "thought it would impress Ian and Paul."

"Impress," Robin shook his head as if he'd just said something amusing. He sighed. "It's alright, Vlad. It'll_ have_ to be alright." He shifted to lounge back against the wall, his long legs hanging over the side of the bed. "I'm never going to get a girl now though." He looked at Vlad accusingly, "Never."

"Sorry," Vlad winced. An idea formulated in his mind. "But, you know – if everyone already thinks we're _gay_," he looked at Robin for confirmation this was the word he wanted. Robin's scowl didn't alter so he assumed it must be. "Then," he kept his gaze on his hands, nervously twisting them in his lap, "if you wanted to, we could just - ." He took a deep breath, face burning, "You know. You and me."

Robin stared at him like he was completely deranged.

"Oi, Robin!" Paul's voice sounded through the door, fist banging on the door. "Mam wants a word with you!"

"Yeah," Ian called, sniggering, "Stop feeling Vlad up and get downstairs!"

Robin hauled himself to his feet, scowling for all he was worth. He wrenched the door open and hovered for a moment, just long enough to jab a finger in Vlad's direction and warn, "It's going to take more than that to make it up to me." He slammed the door behind him and Vlad let out a sigh, slumping back against Robin's bed.

That's what he'd been afraid of.


	15. Chapter 15

**[ _Prompt #070. "Storm" Quite dark, this…_ ]**

In the days after Will's death there was only one thought on her mind: vengeance. To wreck terror and devastation on all those who had wronged him.

When Vlad brought the power of the Council upon her, forcing her to _watch_ as the Slayer walked free, it focused her wrath still further. If it weren't for _Vlad_ it would never have happened. If he had worn the Crown sooner, if he hadn't invited that idiot Branagh into their lives, if he hadn't stood by and let Van Helsing become a threat. If, if, _if_.

It quickly became apparent that Vlad was a target off-limits. With the weight, if not the faith, of the Council behind him his ugly visage was untouchable. Not without suffering a long and painful demise in the rays of the early morning sun.

And, so, she sat and she planned. She hadn't been named the most cunning vampire in her year for no reason. She schemed, and plotted and contrived; Vlad oblivious all the while. If she couldn't harm Vlad physically, she determined, she'd hit him where it really hurt.

It was so easy it was laughable. She could feel the storm in the air long before it broke. Waved Vlad off with his rugby kit and smiled sweetly – triumphantly – as the door slammed behind him. It took a single look to have Branagh tripping over his own feet to follow her up the narrow staircase.

If Vlad hadn't been so obvious about it, she thought as she let Branagh touch her, shuddering inwardly in revulsion. If Vlad didn't watch his every move with lovesick eyes, didn't sit back and pine and wish without ever doing anything about it. If, and this was the clincher, if Vlad were a true vampire he wouldn't even care, she justified as she manoeuvred Branagh back towards the bed, his gangly limbs shaking with excitement.

The timing was – as she'd known it would be – perfect. Vlad stormed through his bedroom door, dripping wet and streaked in mud, just as Branagh's inexperience brought the scene to its climax.

She hears Vlad afterwards, crying and sobbing and ranting to that pathetic mongrel he refused to let go of. It doesn't make her feel regret or sorrow or even pity. To have loved and to have lost, she thinks, is something Vlad can finally understand.


	16. Chapter 16

**[ _A/N: Prompt #069. "Thunder" Written for the 1sentence challenge comm on LJ. And to take my mind off the fact I feel so ill and cannot sleep. I hate being ill. *sniff* Lol._ ]**

#01 – Comfort

"You're really comfy, Vlad," Robin says, squirming against him in a way that makes Vlad feel anything _but _comfortable, "we should do this more often."

#02 – Kiss

"What's it like?" Vlad asks, not daring to remove his gaze from the cinema screen, half wishing he'd insisted on keeping the arm rest down, "Kissing, I mean."

#03 – Soft

"I dunno," Robin frowns, pondering, "sort of soft…" He grins lecherously, "Nice, though."

#04 – Pain

Jealousy, Vlad thinks, after a moment; that's what the searing pain in his chest is.

#05 – Potatoes

"Can we get chips?" Robin asks enthusiastically the instant they step outside; Vlad shrugs, why not?

#06 – Rain

Fine drizzle mists the night air, Robin's hair clinging to his forehead as he concentrates on shoveling food.

#07 – Chocolate

"Go on," Robin insists, holding out half of the chocolate bar he'd spent the best part of five minutes rooting in his coat pocket for, "I only got this one 'cos I know you like it."

#08 – Happiness

Vlad smiles, a happy genuine smile; in his own way, Robin does care.

#09 – Telephone

Robin's sucking chocolate from his fingers by the time his ring tone blares across the silent park, making Vlad jump in shock; he's glad, it gives him time to hide the evidence of what the sight has done to him.

#10 – Ears

"What? No," Robin scowls and Vlad looks away, whatever it is, it's not meant for his ears.

#11 – Name

"I'm sick of seeing her name!" Robin says viciously, gesturing at the caller ID – all was not well in paradise, clearly.

#12 – Sensual

The rain was heavier now and Vlad watched as water trickled down the pale skin of Robin's throat; these things were sent to test him.

#13 – Death

"Normally," Robin went on, "she wouldn't even care if I was _dying_. It's only 'cos I'm spending _my_ money on_ me_ and not _her_."

#14 – Sex

"Yeah," Vlad smiles nervously, trying to keep his tone light, "but there must be_ something _in it for you; why else would you put up with it?"

#15 – Touch

"You must be joking!" Robin grins, reaching out to pick a leaf Vlad hadn't even noticed from his hair, "I'd have more luck with you!"

#16 – Weakness

Vlad commits the moment to memory, wishing Robin's fingers would linger just a second longer; from the moment he met him, Robin's always been his weakness.

#17 – Tears

To his horror Vlad finds himself fighting against the sudden sting of tears; sometimes he feels he can't go on like this, always wanting and watching and wishing.

#18 – Speed

"Vlad?" Robin asks carefully, the other boy's dark eyes fixed intently on his face; he'd not hidden it quickly enough.

#19 – Wind

The wind howls against his chilled skin, and he realizes it's finally stopped raining.

#20 – Freedom

All around them is open space but Vlad doesn't feel any sense of freedom; Robin's not stupid, he'd always known he'd work it out eventually.

#21 – Life

"My life sucks," Vlad murmurs, looking at his feet, adding bitterly, "and my unlife is only going to suck even worse."

#22 – Jealousy

"You know I'm seeing Delila," Robin says awkwardly and Vlad nods, feeling the jealousy claw at him again; how could he ever forget?

#23 – Hands

He wrings his hands together, desperate to be somewhere else, somewhere where he doesn't have to keep it together.

#24 – Taste

The taste of rejection is acrid in his mouth, just as he'd always known it would be.

#25 – Devotion

"But, if I wasn't – " Robin starts, uncharacteristically struggling for words.

#26 – Forever

"You're my best friend, Vlad," Vlad forces himself to meet Robin's eyes, "You always will be. Forever."

#27 – Blood

"An' you know I'd let you," he arches his neck subtly and, in spite of his best efforts, Vlad feels his heart race in response, "if you wanted to."

#28 – Sickness

There's a long moment of silence as Vlad tries to control himself, to work out exactly what it is Robin is saying to him; the taller boy is the first to break it, "Come on, we'll catch our deaths if we stay out 'ere all night."

#29 – Melody

Music plays in his head as they round the corner of Robin's street; it's pathetic, Vlad scolds himself, to think of it as _their _song.

#30 – Star

The sky is pitch black, not a star in sight; Vlad hopes it's not an omen.

#31 – Home

"Home sweet Home," Robin says, pulling a face as he fumbles for his door key.

#32 – Confusion

"Right," Vlad swallows thickly, turning to leave, oblivious to Robin's frown of confusion, "I'll see you tomorrow or something."

#33 – Fear

"But," Robin asks with, Vlad is almost sure he hasn't imagined it, just a hint of fear, "don't you want to stay?"

#34 - Lightning/Thunder

There's a roll of thunder overhead and the heaven's open; thus the decision is made for him.

#35 – Bonds

"Chloe'll be loving this," Robin smirks as he shuts the front door behind them, "I'm _so_ gutted I'm missing the latest Branagh camping extravaganza."

#36 – Market

It makes his stomach flutter when Robin smiles; why, Vlad demands silently for what feels like the millionth time, did he have to be off the market?

#37 – Technology

"Aw, great," Robin sighs as the lights flicker once, twice, three times before they're plunged into darkness.

#38 – Gift

"They were a gift," Robin says in response to Vlad's pointed look; Vlad sniggers, remembering Robin's face when he had unwrapped them – you can't, so Robin had _kept_ telling him, make a sacrifice to the Lord of the Underworld with _pink_ candles.

#39 – Smile

It quickly softens into a smile at his look of annoyance; he could sit all day and watch the thoughts fly across Robin's expressive face.

#40 – Innocence

The power's still out an hour later when they're sat together on Robin's bed; "Have you really never kissed anyone?" Robin asks suddenly, smashing apart their unspoken agreement to pretend the whole thing had never happened.

#41 – Completion

Vlad nods miserably; didn't it just complete his humiliation?

#42 – Clouds

"I don't love her," Robin whispers into the stillness, the thick storm clouds ensuring the soft glow of candles is the only light source.

#43 – Sky

"Could you love me?" Vlad asks in a voice that doesn't stay steady, resisting the urge to look away at the sky, at anything, for fear of what he might _not _see in Robin's eyes.

#44 – Heaven

He'll never be welcome there, Vlad knows, but when Robin's lips touch his own he thinks that it must be _exactly_ how heaven would feel.

#45 – Hell

"_Vlad_," Robin groans before kissing him again, the passion behind it making his head spin and his skin tingle; an eternity might not be so bad, Vlad thinks dimly, if he gets to do this on a regular basis.

#46 – Sun

He's panting by the time Robin moves back to let him breathe, although he can't help but feel slightly smug at the splashes of vivid colour across Robin's sun deprived skin.

#47 – Moon

"What will you tell her?" Vlad asks reluctantly, head resting against Robin's chest; he doesn't know how long they've lain together like that, but the clouds have cleared and moonlight is streaming through Robin's bedroom window.

#48 – Waves

Robin waves a hand dismissively, although Vlad can tell he's far from calm about it, "You're dumped. I've found someone who," Vlad hears the smile in his voice," is not only a better kisser than you; he only nags me half as much."

#49 – Hair

"Oi!" Vlad protests, smiling as Robin runs gentle fingers through his hair, "I don't _nag_."

#50 – Supernova

"You _do_ nag," Robin says in a long suffering tone, "all the time. But, you're lucky," the hand in his hair stills and Vlad shifts so he can look up into Robin's face, a supernova of emotion threatening to overwhelm him at the expression on the other boy's face, "I love you anyway."


	17. Chapter 17

** [ _Prompt #081. "How?" This is a scene I kind of refer to in another fic. Vlad shows some cunning!_ ]**

"Robin…" Vlad starts slowly, nervously.

"Hmm?" Robin responds distractedly, rifling through Vlad's CD collection with a look of disgust.

Vlad wrings his hands together and forces the words out, "Apart from Ingrid have you ever – I mean – " This would be such a stupid thing to suggest, he knows. Such an idiotic, dangerous, _stupid_ thing to do. But the chance that it _might_ work has the ability to leave him breathless, stomach fluttering in excitement, all the same.

"McFly!" Robin mutters disdainfully under his breath, fingers resting against the plastic spine as he shakes his head. "You've no taste, Vlad."

" - Have you ever kissed anyone?"

Robin meets his gaze in obvious confusion. "What? Yeah, course I 'ave." Tone suspicious he went on, "Why wouldn't I 'ave?"

"I just," Vlad feels himself blush, "I haven't."

"That's 'cos you don't try hard enough," Robin says knowingly, slumping down onto the bed next to him. "I told you, that girl in art likes you." He grins, "The one who wears the _short_ skirts."

Vlad manages a strained smile in return, "Yeah, sounds, er, great." Before he can lose his nerve completely he goes on, "But I wouldn't know what to do."

"Well," Robin frowns, "you'll just pick it up as you go along I expect."

"But what if I don't?" Vlad whines. "I'm not as good at learning things as you are."

Robin, he can see, is pleased with that statement. The taller boy shrugs, half bashful, half smug, "Yeah, well, not everyone can be as awesome as me."

"I know," Vlad says, laying it on thick. "That's why I thought we could – you could _teach me_."

Robin blanches. "T-teach you?" He stuttered out.

Vlad nods. "Who better? You're my best friend, you won't laugh at me. And, like you said, you've kissed loads of people. You'll know what you're doing."

"Yeah…" Robin shifts uncomfortably. Ignoring the stab of his guilty conscience Vlad pushes still further,

"You have kissed loads of people, haven't you?"

Reluctantly, Robin nods. Vlad grins in triumph, knowing he has Robin cornered. "So you can teach me, then?"

"Alright," Robin sighs, carefully avoiding Vlad's gaze. "I suppose I can. Anything to stop you nagging me."

"What should I do?" Vlad asks, shifting forward eagerly, not giving Robin chance to change his mind.

"Just, er, sit still," Robin instructs, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Like this?"

"Yeah," Robin bites at his lip, anxiety written all across his expressive face. As if aware of what he's giving away he stammers, "I think you should close your eyes." Vlad does so obediently, waiting impatiently for the next step.

It seems like an eternity before anything else happens; an eternity in which all he can hear are two sets of uneven breathing and the hammering of his own heart. Then, finally, the bed dips as Robin moves closer, hesitant fingers touching the skin of his cheek. Vlad swallows harshly, committing it all to memory, as Robin's lips crashes against his own.

The kiss is clumsy, the angle awkward and Vlad so nervous he can scarcely think. There's a moment where it's less chaste, where he can taste the lingering sweetness of chocolate on Robin's tongue, and it makes his head swim. He didn't know what he'd been expecting but the desperate thrill that shoots through him, the clamour for _more_ – although he's not entirely sure more _what_ – wasn't it.

It's barely begun when Robin pulls away, coughing and fidgeting in embarrassment. "See, just kind of like that. But, you know, with a girl and stuff."

Vlad nods silently, struggling to stay calm in the face of Robin's obvious indifference. He's got no-one to blame but himself. It was a _stupid_ idea.


	18. Chapter 18

"You must like _someone_, Vlad," Robin wheedled, "Everyone does."

"Well," Vlad shrugged uncomfortably, "I'm not like everyone else."

Robin frowned for a moment before changing tact, "I can tell you like someone 'cos you're blushing. If you didn't, you wouldn't be." Robin grinned, clearly certain that his logic had no fault.

"Even if I did like someone," Vlad conceded reluctantly, hastily adding, "and I'm not saying I do!" Robin nodded knowingly, waiting for Vlad to continue. "I wouldn't tell you who it was." Vlad finished lamely, carefully avoiding his best friend's eye.

"It's someone really embarrassing, isn't it?" Robin asked in unadulterated glee. "Old Jenkins? You just love seeing his bald patch in the scrum."

Vlad pulled a face, "No!"

"Hmm," Robin looked into the middle distance, pondering. "My Mam?"

"_No_." Vlad protested, belatedly realising that Robin would not give up until he uncovered the identity of his secret crush.

"Van Helsing?" Vlad scowled in response, not meriting it with an answer. Robin grinned widely, "Renfield?"

"Don't be so stupid, Robin!" Vlad sulked, wishing he'd never started this.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist." He was quiet for a moment, the pair of them staring at, but not watching, Robin's television. Eventually, Robin broke it. "You know you can tell me Vlad, don't you? I wouldn't laugh at you."

"What?" Vlad asked sarcastically, "Like you haven't been laughing at me for the last ten minutes." Robin had the good grace to look contrite,

"Yeah, but I didn't mean it."

Vlad sighed, weighing up his options. "Fine, I'll tell you. And if you don't like it, then, that's your problem."

Robin nodded solemnly. Then, just as Vlad was about to open his mouth, he interrupted anxiously. "It's not Chloe though, is it?"

"Nooo," Vlad frowned, shaking his head.

"Okay," Robin relaxed. "Carry on."

Vlad heaved a huge fortifying breath and allowed the word to pass his lips,

"Paul."

**xXx**

"Paul?" Robin frowned in confusion. "As in a boy, called Paul."

"Yes, a boy." Vlad snapped without meaning to, the nervous tension bound tightly around his body making him edgy.

Robin cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if considering. He shrugged, "Yeah, I can see that." He smirked lecherously, "All the more girls for me, hey?"

Vlad managed a strained smile.

"Do I know him though?" Robin asked, frowning again. "I can't think of any Pauls in our year."

"You know," Vlad said incredulously, "Paul. _Your brother_."

If Robin could have gone any paler, Vlad was sure; he'd have simply disappeared into thin air.

**xXx**

"Paul, though." Robin grimaced, looking out across the rugby pitch. "What is there to like about _Paul_!?"

Vlad followed the taller boy's gaze and swallowed, feeling a few quarts of blush rush south at the sight of the taut muscles in Paul's thighs. He determined not to share such information with Robin, figuring it wouldn't be the best way to ensure he still had a friend at the end of the day.

Aloud he said, "I dunno. He's just so…" He struggled for a word, finally settling on, "_Normal_."

"Boring, you mean?" Robin asked bitterly. "You do understand," Robin went on, Vlad fully aware of the hint of spite in the other boy's voice, "that Paul thinks people like _that_," he gave the word - Vlad felt - unnecessary emphasis, "are 'freaks of nature'." He hooked his fingers in the air.

Robin shrugged casually, "It's never going to go anywhere."

Vlad scowled. He wasn't stupid; he _knew_ it wasn't going anywhere. It didn't mean he appreciated Robin pointing it out to him in the bluntest way possible. Angrily, Vlad retorted, "How do you_ know_ that? Nothing's set in stone, is it?"

"Except for you becoming the Chosen One." Robin responded instantly.

"Yeah, well," Vlad flustered, clenching his fist and fighting the urge to stomp his foot, "I need to go and hand my coursework in."

As he stormed across the field Robin called, only fanning his ire further, "I'm only saying this for your own good!"

**xXx**

Things were strained between him and Robin all the next day, to the extent that he almost couldn't look forward to his after-school rugby practice with the sixth formers. _Almost_.

But, as soon as he reached the changing rooms and saw Paul squirming out of his uniform shirt, Robin was all but forgotten. Vlad watched as surreptitiously as he could, imagining what might happen if it played out like one of his dreams and the rest of the team just melted away.

"Vladdo," Paul called when he spotted him; Vlad bit down a pang of disappointment as the older boy pulled his rugby shirt down over his chest. "I hear you've had a falling out with _freakboy_."

Vlad froze; surely Robin wouldn't have told Paul about their conversation. Robin wasn't that angry with him, was he? Paul went on without waiting for an answer, "Don't worry about it. Robin's a proper weirdo. He can't help being a pain in the backside."

Ian nodded at this statement, flinging a brotherly arm around Paul's shoulder. "_Totally_."

Paul shot him one last smile, a smile that had Vlad's heart hammering at around four times its usual speed, before leading his team outside.

**xXx**

"Vlad!" Ian yelled, "Block him!"

He moved to follow the instruction, gulping slightly at the sight of the boy barrelling towards him – he could swear he was as wide as he was tall. And he was pretty damn tall.

They collided and Vlad collapsed to the floor, pain slicing through him hotly. His ankle twisted underneath him and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He clenched his eyes shut; only forcing them open when warm fingers touched his shoulder. _Paul_. Suddenly the pain didn't seem half as bad.

"Come on, Vladdo." Paul said jovially, helping him up carefully and supporting his weight as he limped back to the changing rooms. Once there, Paul lowered him to sit on a bench and inspected his injured ankle carefully, prodding it with surprisingly gentle fingers. Vlad supposed he had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. "I don't think you've done any lasting damage." He said thoughtfully.

"No?" Vlad asked dumbly, trying to find someway to prolong the conversation. Normally the only times he spoke to Paul was when Robin was around. Which seriously limited the scope of what might come out of his mouth. "Are you sure?"

"I can go and fetch the nurse for you?" Paul asked.

Vlad shook his head, searching for something witty to say. Something that wouldn't make him sound like a baby. "Nah, what will she do?" He smiled, "Kiss it better?" He cringed the second the words were spoken, feeling a hot blush working its way down his neck. Paul would think he was a total idiot.

"Haha," Paul laughed openly, allaying Vlad's immediate fears, "I can do that for you!" Vlad watched with wide eyes as Paul kissed the tips of two fingers on his right hand with a smacking noise, then touched them lightly to Vlad's ankle. "See," he grinned in amusement, "all better."

Vlad could do nothing but nod mutely.

"Stay here," Paul told him, getting up, oblivious to the turmoil in Vlad's chest, "and I'll get my Dad to give you a lift home."

With that he was gone and Vlad let his head slump back against the wall, a dopy smile curling across his face. Robin was _so_ wrong.


	19. Chapter 19

"How many times do I have to say it!?" Vlad hissed as quietly as he could. "No!"

"Aw, Vlad, _come on_," Robin whined, "Just pass it to her."

"_No_." Vlad ran a hand through his hair in frustration and tried to concentrate on his history textbook. How was he ever supposed to get any work done with Robin distracting him every 20 seconds?

"I'd do it for you," Robin said sulkily.

'No you wouldn't', Vlad thought bitterly. He didn't answer though, glancing warily at the front desk instead. The last thing he needed was yet _another_ detention for talking in class. And, the most annoying part was that it was _always_ Robin's fault.

"_Vlad_," Robin tried again, "Just do it this once and I won't ask you again. _Please_."

"Fine," Vlad ground out between gritted teeth, knowing from experience he wouldn't get any peace until he gave in, "give it here."

Robin grinned happily and handed him the note he'd spent the better part of fifteen minutes pondering over. Vlad shook his head; Robin had no chance with the girl. Leaning over as far as he could, Vlad tried to tap her on the shoulder with it. He couldn't _quite_ reach. Cursing silently he shifted his chair, sparing Mr. Griffiths another cautious glance, and tried again. She'd just turned round to scowl at him when the voice he least wanted to hear sounded behind him,

"What's this, Count?" Vlad grimaced as Griffiths glared down at him. "Something tells me you're _not_ attempting to discuss the collapse of the Weimar Republic. Am I wrong?"

Vlad sighed, "No, Sir."

"It must be very important, whatever it is, for you to be unable to keep it to yourself for another," Griffiths looked at the clock above the whiteboard, "14 minutes. Perhaps we'd all," Griffiths gestured widely around the classroom, at the dozens of faces watching the altercation eagerly, "benefit from hearing this urgent communication. What do you think?"

"But I didn't write it, Sir!" Vlad protested, glowering at Robin who was wearing an expression of perfect innocence.

"Don't make it worse for yourself, Count," Griffiths warned coldly, holding his hand out for the note. Vlad hesitated for a moment before passing it to him. If there was anything embarrassing in it then it would serve Robin right.

Griffiths scanned it quickly, lips quirking up in amusement. "And they say that romance is dead!" He cleared his throat, "Trish, I was really sorry to hear your boyfriend chucked you for that minger." Vlad looked at Robin in pity; he had _no_ idea where Robin got his chat up lines from.

Griffiths coughed, as if trying not to laugh, and read on, "I'm better than him anyway, why don't we go out sometime?" Ripples of laughter went around the room and Vlad realised, belatedly, that there was nothing in the note to convince anyone that he hadn't written it. No wonder Robin had looked so smug.

Kelsey Peterson, sat next to Trish, twisted round in her seat to sneer at him and mouth '_freak_'. Vlad felt he couldn't really blame her.

"Seeing as you're so fond of writing notes, Count, copy this down," Griffiths said. "Detention, tomorrow, after school." Vlad scowled but got out his school planner and did as he was told. "I was going to set you an essay on why you shouldn't waste time in class but, having read this," Griffiths fixed him with a particularly disdainful look, "I think 'why modesty is a virtue' might be a more suitable topic."

Giggling broke out all around him and Vlad stamped on Robin's foot under the table as viciously as he dared,

"You _owe_ me for this."


	20. Chapter 20

**[_ A/N: Prompt #006. "Hours"_ _Vlad decides to teach Robin by example_. ]**

"She's so beautiful, Vlad."

"She's so out of your league, Robin." Vlad snapped back. He didn't want to hear about how beautiful she was.

"Why are you always like this? Whenever I like a girl, you start sulking."

Vlad avoided Robin's gaze, pretending to be engrossed in reading the nutritional value of his milkshake. How could he tell Robin - without ruining their friendship forever - that he felt sick with jealousy every time Robin so much as looked at someone who wasn't _him_.

"I think you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Vlad echoed in horror, dropping his cardboard cup back down onto the table. What had he done to give it away?

"Yeah, jealous," Robin went on obliviously. "Because you know I have a chance with them, and you don't." He held a hand up in a 'don't interrupt' gesture, "Don't give me that look, you know it's true."

"It's not true," Vlad protested. "If I wanted a girlfriend, I could get one. I just - " He trailed off miserably, "don't want one."

"Vlad, I'm your best friend," Robin gestured at himself, smiling in a way that made Vlad's stomach turn somersaults. "You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm _not _lying!" He scowled down at his hands. Did Robin really see him as so unattractive he'd have no chance of getting a girlfriend? "Pick out anyone in this place - _anyone_ - and I could get a date with them."

"Don't be stupid," Robin said placatingly. "I'm not going to make you embarrass yourself. Cos," he smirked, "let's face it. You will. I bet," Robin went on, grinning from ear to ear in amusement, "you wouldn't know what to do with a girl. In all the time I've known you, you've never even been on a date."

"I went to the Valentine's dance with Delila."

"It was at your house," Robin said bluntly. "She never even spoke to you." He raised an eyebrow and went back to attacking his fries, "At least when she was seeing me she actually spent time with me. Nah," he shook his head, "you'd be _clueless_. She'd have to show you what to do!"

Robin was still laughing when Richard Price, dishing out black-eyes and Chinese Burns like penny chews since nursery school, entered the arcade, flanked by his cronies on either side. Robin went pale and started choking on his food and Vlad, knowing it was wrong, smiled slyly. He'd show Robin just how clueless he was.

**xXx**

"Come on, Vlad," Robin whined, making to leave his half eaten meal on the table.

"What's the rush?" Vlad asked in mock confusion, making no effort to move.

"_Price!"_ Robin hissed, pointing over at the grab machines. Price was looming over the shoulder of a second year; they looked up and gave up the rest of their turn without a sound. "He's going to _kill me_."

Vlad slumped back further into the padded bench, pouring another salt sachet over his fries, "Shouldn't have called him stupid then, should you?" He looked up and met Robin's gaze, willing himself to keep it up and not give in at the sight of Robin in distress, "Just sit down and stop worrying."

"Oh God," Robin slid back into his seat and hid his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers, "He's seen me. They're coming over. Oh God!"

"Why would they be coming to see you?" Vlad asked as casually as he dared.

Robin stared at him like he'd lost what was left of his mind, "Vlad. Haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying!? Price is going to _kill me_."

"You must be a mind reader, Branagh," Price's low tones sounded and they both looked up, "I was just thinking the same thing." To his left Drew Davis sneered at Robin, to his right Tommo Watson spared him a glare before turning back to his mobile phone. "Mind if we join you?"

Robin grimaced at Vlad, eyes darting for an escape route, before Davis and Watson pushed him along the bench, effectively blocking him in. Price did the same to Vlad. "I didn't think so." He took a handful of Robin's fries and grinned, "I must be a mind reader too, huh?"

He turned to Vlad, "Still around then, are you Count? Thought you'd killed yourself or something." Vlad bit back the response on the tip of his tongue. Robin would learn nothing if they both got a fist to the face. Except for maybe that it hurts humans a lot more than it does vampires.

Aloud Vlad said, in his best 'I'm hurt' tone, "Richard, you don't need to be like that for _their_ sakes."

"What the f*** are you banging on about now!?" Price replied in obvious confusion. Davis and Watson shared an amused look. Robin still looked terrified.

Vlad put a hand on Price's forearm. Price eyed it up in a way that suggested he'd like to snap it in two. "You said we weren't going to keep hiding it." Vlad concentrated, staring into Price's eyes, feeling nowhere near as much guilt as he normally did upon trying this move. Price deserved it.

"I did, didn't I?" Price frowned, sounding uncertain. Vlad nodded solemnly. Price put a hesitant arm around his shoulders and between that, and the three gaping looks of utter disbelief in front of him, it was all Vlad could do not to laugh.

**xXx**

"Vlad," Robin whispered later, glancing warily at Price's back, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked," Vlad shrugged, certain that at no point over the last five years had Robin ever said, 'Vlad, are you secretly dating Richard Price?' Of course, even if had, he hadn't been so the answer would still have been 'no'.

Robin fell quiet and Davis took up the slack. "Rich, mate, what's Kelsey going to say?" He gave Vlad a quick once-over, grimacing at what he saw, "She won't like this."

"I don't care what she says," Price said in a monotone, before hissing with more of his usual passion, "Got a problem with that?" Davis shook his head, holding his hands out in placation.

"You can tell her now," Watson said, inclining his head towards the door. Kelsey Peterson was posing in front of the mirrors in the foyer, adjusting her hair and pouting. Around her the rest of her crowd were doing the same. Vlad felt a twinge of unease. Maybe he was taking things a bit far?

"Branagh," Price spat, twisting around, "touch me again and you'll be smiling on the other side of your ugly face."

Vlad stiffened. This was one of those times where it would be cruelty for the greater good.

**xXx**

"Richard, like, oh my God," Kelsey started, one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a mobile phone, "is this true?"

"Is what true?" Price frowned. The hypnosis was making his thought processes even slower than usual.

"This!" Kelsey snapped, shoving the phone closer to his face, "You and," she grimaced at Vlad, "_that freak_!"

"He's not a freak," Price said slowly. He reached for Vlad's hand and Vlad let him take it. Kelsey looked like she might strangle one of them.

Delila shook her head in disbelief, "I can't believe I'm seeing this."

"Join the club," Vlad heard Robin mutter behind him.

"I can't help it if he prefers me," Vlad shrugged. Intending to press a kiss to Price's hand he detoured for Price's cheek. Who knew where the former had been? There had to be a limit to what he could do for the greater good. That thought had barely been fully formed before Price was tilting his head, lips pressed to his own.

Vlad froze. Robin had been right; he had no idea what to do. Luckily Price didn't seem to expect him to do anything other than keep still and performed a full scale assault on his tonsils before he managed to squirm free.

It seemed like every eye in the place was fixed firmly on them.

"I'll get you for this," Kelsey yelled, shattering the tenuous silence. As Delila hauled her away Vlad caught Robin's eye and smirked,

Not likely.

**xXx**

"You and Price," Robin said on the walk home, Price having promised to ring him when he got in. Vlad had ensured his mobile phone was switched off. That was one call he didn't want to receive. He'd given Price the wrong number, just to make extra sure. He probably wouldn't be very happy with him when the hypnosis wore off in the morning.

"Price and you." Robin went on, seemingly dumb struck by the night's events.

"Yeah," Vlad prompted, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"Does he know you're a vampire?"

Vlad shook his head.

"Can't he tell when you're," Robin inclined his head, "you know? You're all cold and stuff."

"Am I?" Vlad touched an anxious hand to the skin of his other wrist. Hastily, to cover it up, he went on, "He's just stupid, isn't he?"

Robin bought it. "You and Price, though." He shook his head. Vlad could feel Robin's wide eyes on him in the darkness, wondered what he was thinking about. Wondered if it had worked. If Robin was realizing that people could find him attractive. That he wouldn't make such a horrendous catch.

"Can't believe Price chucked a fit bird like Kelsey for you." Vlad held his breath, Robin was staring into his eyes, the breakthrough was coming. "You 'ave to show me how to do that. Make people like me like that." Robin turned away, carrying on walking, "She'll be all over me. Did I tell you how beautiful she is, Vlad? _Vlad_?" He turned back, "Vlad?"

_What_, Vlad thought viciously as he hurried to catch up, did he have to do!?


	21. Chapter 21

** [ _Prompt #37. "Sound" Warning - mature references._ ]**

"Shhh," Vlad soothes, trailing cool fingertips across heated flesh.

The man beneath him bites his lip, dark hair clinging damply to his forehead as he struggles to abide by the rules; to keep quiet, to keep still.

Once assured neither is in imminent danger of being broken, Vlad lowers his lips to follow his fingers' path. Pushes his nose into the crook of his neck, grazes his elongated canines across his pulsing jugular.

Back when he'd been young he'd dreamt of this, over and over again. Of Robin inarticulate beneath him, desperate hands in his hair, guiding him where his voice could not.

Now, it's almost perfect. Vlad sucks softly against the flesh of his throat, excitement rising in waves even as he ensures the skin remains unbroken. He has plenty of others for that.

He takes his time, just as he always imagined he would. Even in his messy teenage fantasies he'd wanted to map Robin from head to toe, to kiss him everywhere until he was shaking and senseless with want.

The trembling of the limbs beneath him is gratifying beyond all reason. The harsh panting in his ear proof enough to make his own reactions clumsy and slow. But he's still fast enough to clap a hand over his mouth, to muffle the words in the palm of his hand.

Whatever he has to say, it's not what Robin would have said. And that, so he hisses in the stranger's ear, so like him in looks, is something he won't stand for.


	22. Chapter 22

**[ **_**A/N: Prompt #032 "Sunset"**_**_._ ]**

"Vlad, I said to get dressed," Robin laughed, looking up from his breakfast and shaking his head.

"Nice knees, Vladdo!" Paul grinned, holding out his hand for Ian to slap it.

Vlad looked down at his bare legs, and swung his backpack onto one shoulder in a violent movement.

"Been taking fashion tips from the Famous Five again, 'ave you?" Robin greeted him round a mouthful of bacon sandwich as he got closer, sniggering.

"Your Dad's wearing shorts," Vlad said stiffly, glad he'd thought to put his book in his backpack. Nobody would find it on his person. Not that there was anything wrong with a fifteen year old reading Enid Blyton. Probably.

"Yeah," Robin clapped him on the other shoulder as he stood up, "and he's a sad act." He handed Vlad a sandwich, "Come on then, let's get on with it."

"Be back by nine!" Mr. Branagh called as they started away from the campsite, Ian and Paul behind them on their way to the nearest shop. Robin sighed and rolled his eyes,

"Whatever."

**xXx**

"You could pretend to be having fun," Vlad ventured as they pushed into the undergrowth.

"But I'm not having fun," Robin scowled.

Shorts had really been a bad idea Vlad thought, rubbing at the newest scratch on his calf. "We could sing a song?"

"No!" Robin turned round to stare at him in horror. "I'm making this sacrifice for you, Vlad, 'cos you want to," Robin held his hands out as if Vlad had wanted him to make daisy chains with the stars, not spend a day in the open air, "do normal stuff. I can't make myself enjoy it as well!"

Vlad sighed and shook his head. If Robin would just stop complaining about the bugs, and the distance, and the burn of the sun on his perfect alabaster skin, then he would have fun. Vlad was sure of it.

"Aw, brilliant," Robin whined sarcastically, Vlad hurrying to catch up with his longer strides. "How are we supposed to get across that?"

It was a river, not particularly fast flowing nor, Vlad peered closer, did it look especially deep. It might as well have been the Red Sea for the expression it inspired on Robin's face. Battling with his map, Vlad gave up and scanned the area, up and down.

"Look!" He gestured further downstream, steadfastly ignoring the way his arm brushed against Robin's heated skin as he did so. The less Robin knew about his _other_ reasoning for wanting to spend a day rambling together, the better. "Stepping stones. We can pick our way across there, if we're careful."

Vlad put the map away in his backpack and they scrambled down the bank, Robin helping him down the last few steps in a show of unexpected gallantry. Vlad was sure he would still be blushing the following morning when Mr. Branagh drove them back to Stokely.

"If I fall in," Robin warned as he balanced precariously on one slippery stone, "I'm going to kill you."

"You won't," Vlad reassured, glancing over his shoulder to check Robin's progress. "We're nearly to the other side."

The words had barely left his mouth when there was an almighty splash and enough cursing to bring a touch of colour to even Granny Westenra's cheeks. Vlad stood stock still, biting at his lip and fighting back the urge to laugh.

"Don't just stand there!" Robin yelled at him, clambering clumsily to his feet, only to slip again. "Help me out!"

**xXx**

"You could take it off," Vlad ventured nervously, watching as Robin wrung the hem of his T-shirt out, scowling deeply. "Let it dry."

"Are you mad?" Robin snapped at him, the movement sending his wet hair flying. "In this sun? I'll be fried to a crisp!"

Vlad gave him what he hoped was an apologetic smile. Not a look of crushed disappointment that Robin was, in fact, going to remain fully clothed. Robin looked utterly miserable and Vlad felt suddenly guilty.

"We can go back if you want, I don't mind."

Robin sighed. "How much further is it?"

"It should only be about another hour," Vlad said, reaching for the map once more, "See?"

"Yeah," Robin said, the blank look on his face suggesting he had no idea what the map said. "Look," he went on, "We might as well keep going now we've already come _this_ far."

Vlad smiled widely at him.

Robin stretched his leg out in the sun, water seeping from the fabric of his jeans as he did so, making him grimace. "But, before we go anywhere, where's that food you brought?"

Vlad grinned knowingly and dug around in his backpack for the picnic he'd spent a good part of the morning preparing. He handed Robin a package wrapped in tin foil and sat back to watch him eat it, not yet hungry himself. Today wasn't going to be a total loss.

**xXx**

It ended up taking them another two and half hours to reach the castle ruins. Nothing like the castle at Stokely, or back in Transylvania, there were vines growing in the broken brickwork and only one extant wall.

Still it provided shade against the mid afternoon sun and Robin slumped against it gratefully, suggesting they rest – and eat – before so much as contemplating going back. Vlad conceded happily.

"'Ave I caught the sun?" Robin asked later, sprawled out on his back.

Vlad peered closer, chomping at his apple. "A bit." The freckles on Robin's cheeks were stark against his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose was an angry red. Vlad didn't think there was anything to be gained from telling Robin that. It made him look cute anyway.

"At least my clothes have dried out," Robin yawned. "Do you think we can 'ave a nap before we _trek_ back?"

"Yeah," Vlad checked his wristwatch, "not for too long though." Robin nodded and promptly fell asleep. Vlad shook his head and extracted _Five Go Off to Camp_ from his bag. They had plenty of time.

**xXx**

"Vlad, what time is it?"

"What?" Vlad mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"Vlad," Robin shook his arm, "wake up."

"Huh," Vlad blinked up into Robin's face groggily. He moved and the Famous Five slid off his chest. He grimaced as Robin's gaze followed it, he'd never live it down. To his surprise Robin didn't even mention about it.

"I think we should get started."

Vlad sat up properly, taking in the chill in the air and the changed light quality. He glanced at his watch, 7 o'clock. They'd never make it back by nine. "Ring your Dad and tell him we'll be a bit late."

Robin nodded and reached for his phone. He looked shocked when his hand came away empty, patting at his every pocket and searching the ground where he'd been sleeping.

"Robin?" Vlad asked cautiously, not liking what this meant.

"_The river_," Robin hissed finally, "It's in the river."

**xXx**

"Is this even the right way?" Robin asked snidely as they pushed their way back through the woods.

"Yes," Vlad snapped. In truth he had no idea. It all looked the same. "Ow!" He grimaced, stopping to clutch at his leg. There was a gash across his back of his calf, his fingers came away streaked with blood.

"What did I tell you about the outdoors?" Robin asked bitterly, taking the first aid kit Vlad handed him all the same. "Not so much fun now, is it?"

Vlad pulled a face and sat down gingerly on a fallen tree trunk, Robin crouching in front of him and inspecting his leg. Sure fingers traced the skin and Vlad hoped fervently that Robin would interpret his shiver as a result of the increasing cold. Dark eyes met his curiously, even as the bandage was wound around his treacherous limb.

He found himself staring back, unable to pull his gaze away. He imagined what might happen if Robin were to move his hand up his leg, just like – He swallowed, eyes wide, and Robin pulled his hand away as if burnt. He coughed and turned away,

"Right, you're all patched up. Come on."

Vlad got to his feet slowly and willed Robin to turn around and face him. To give him some idea of what was going through the other boy's head. Robin didn't.

**xXx**

Chloe heard, rather than saw, Ian and Paul approaching the tents.

"She fancied me."

"No, bruv. She obviously fancied me."

"You're blind. She fancied me."

"Boys," Mr. Branagh called, "Go and get ready for dinner. And," he looked up from the saucepan of baked beans he was stirring, "Robin, I don't want a repeat of last night." Plastic spiders, so the lecture had run, were not appropriate additions to a camp meal.

"He's not with us," Ian said.

Paul nudged his brother, "Loads of forests round here, in't there?" Ian looked confused for a moment before grinning and high-fiving Paul.

Mr. Branagh went pale. "But if they're not with you…"

Chloe finished for him, "Then where are they?"

**xXx**

It was dark by the time Vlad admitted defeat, slumping down to sit on the nearest patch of dry looking ground, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm. "We're lost. I don't know where we are."

"Now you tell me," Robin scowled, throwing himself down next to Vlad. "Fun. That's what you said this would be. I've fallen in a river; I've lost my phone; I'm freezing; I'm starving and – " he pointed at his face angrily, "I'm sunburnt. Do you 'ave any idea how long this will take to go away!?"

"I'm sorry, alright!" Vlad shot back, "I didn't know any of this was going to happen." Frowning at his hands he went on, "I just thought it'd be a nice thing to do. This time next year I won't be able to."

Robin shook his head, "Aw, here we go." Vlad turned to glare at him but Robin didn't back down. He raised his voice by an octave or two and simpered, "My name's Vlad and my life is _so_ terrible. I'm only the greatest vampire who ever lived but I'm_ still_ not happy because –"

Vlad prided himself on being placid, on keeping calm where any other vampire would fly into a temper. But, as he was finding out, he had limits. Robin casually mocking his nightmare of a life seemed to be it. Vlad shoved Robin. It wasn't going to make the history books; he'd seen year seven girls conduct more violent fights in the queue at lunchtimes. But it was still more than he'd ever done before.

Robin stared at him in wide-eyed shock for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on and, then, he shoved him back.

**xXx**

"Do you think they're dead?" Ian asked, mopping up the remnants of his dinner with a piece of bread.

Paul frowned, considering it for a moment, then nodded, "Probably."

"_Paul_," Chloe glared at him, inclining her head towards where Mr. Branagh was talking to a uniformed police officer.

"What?" Paul asked, affronted, "They probably are. Either that or they're getting down and dirty on the forest floor."

Chloe just glared.

**xXx**

They were grappling, Robin using his greater height and weight to his advantage. Vlad struggled against him, cheeks flushing with the exertion, and tried to get Robin underneath him. If he could just get the leverage…

Robin shoved him roughly by the shoulders, his back hitting the ground with a force that winded him. Vlad grimaced in pain, all the worse for the triumphant smile across Robin's face. Robin was sprawled on top of him, pinning him down, and it was only belatedly that Vlad realised it really wasn't a situation he should be trying to prolong.

"Get off me, Robin," He managed to grind out, his voice sounding awkward and strained. Robin was so close he'd barely have to lift his head for their lips to meet. Vlad clenched his eyes shut.

"I know your tactics," Robin shook his head, squirming to find a better position from which to keep Vlad in place, "I'm not going anywhere."

"I won't try anything!" Vlad said, with a hint of desperation. He could feel the blush staining his cheeks working its way down his neck. If Robin didn't move – and soon! – he would want to know what exactly was digging into his hip. "Just get off me!"

For the second time that day Vlad felt the full intensity of Robin's curiosity, could see the moment Robin made the connection in his mind. Vlad wished he had a stake handy and could just disappear into thin air. Literally.

"Vlad?" Robin whispered slowly, gaze raking down the length of his body, then back to his face. Robin's skin looked paler than ever in the moonlight and Vlad could feel the tension spiralling tighter and tighter. It wouldn't matter if Robin punched him or kissed him, part of his brain pleaded, so long as he hurried up about it.

Finally, Robin made his decision, descending on him like something Vlad had only ever seen in movies. He let Robin take the lead, moaning into Robin's mouth at the first slick of the other boy's tongue against his own. The flush swept its way over him in waves as Robin pressed down against him, hands scrambling under the thin material of his T-shirt and up the skin of his thigh.

He was panting and wild by the time the flashlight fell across them, the sound of their names broke through the stillness. Robin broke away from him, guiltily, attempting to straighten out his clothing and his hair. Vlad winced as the heavy crunch of police issue boots brought the officers into the clearing. His hair was full of leaves and he was sure they could tell, just by looking at him, what he and Robin had been doing prior to their arrival.

"Robin Branagh, Vlad Count?" The taller of the two asked. Robin nodded, answering for both of them. "You're lucky," he said. "You could have been stuck out here all night."

Vlad kept his gaze down and clung to his backpack for support as they followed the police back towards civilisation. Robin flashed him the barest hint of a smile and laid a hand on his back. Suddenly it didn't seem anywhere near as bad.

**xXx**

"You're alive!" Ian greeted them as soon as Mr. Branagh let go of them, lingering anxiety written clear across the older man's face.

"Obviously," Robin scowled, making straight for the food.

Vlad shifted uncomfortably; very aware of the way Paul was taking in the state of his hair and clothes. Robin motioned him over, and he went, glad to have something to do.

"What did I tell you?" He heard Paul say as Robin handed him a bag of crisps, "Forests."


	23. Chapter 23

**[ _Prompt #033 "Too Much". Written for a challenge. Write ten fics, in ten different genres. The catch? They have to each be ten words or less – harder than it looks! ]_**

**1. Angst**

"No-one loves me."

Ingrid snorted, "Can you blame them?"

**2. AU**

"I'm telling you, Vlad," Robin whispered, "Van Helsing's a vampire!"

**3. Crack!fic**

"You. And Renfield. In lust?"

"Yes," came the lecherous reply.

**4. Crossover ( x Twilight)**

"Why can't you do that?"

Vlad scowled, "Dracula's _don't_ sparkle."

**5. First Time**

"We'll get caught!"

"We won't!"

Van Helsing smirked, "Truanting, boys?"

**6. Fluff**

"Count, you freak!"

Robin touched his hand, "_My_ freak."

**7. Humour**

"Ingrid loves me."

"No, Ingrid loves me."

"Are you blind?"

**8. Hurt/Comfort**

"I'm a monster!"

"Vlad," Robin placated, "You're not _that_ ugly."

**9. Smut**

"_Vlad_," Robin whined, writhing beneath him, "Please. Bite me."

**10. UST**

"You can, if you want."

Vlad swallowed; _don't tempt me_.


	24. Chapter 24

**[ _Prompt "Winter". Vlad/Robin, slash, mature themes! Cliche blanket fic, cos, why not? Lol. ]_**

"It's freezing in 'ere," Robin complained, eyeing up the thick layer of snow gathering on Vlad's window ledge. "Aren't you cold?"

Vlad looked up from his Council papers and shrugged, "Not really." He gave Robin a miserable smile, "I'm always cold now. I can't tell the difference."

"Yeah, well," Robin whined, oblivious to or deliberately ignoring Vlad's maudlin tone – Vlad wasn't sure which – "Some of us aren't dead. Can't you do your fire thing or something?"

"I'd rather not," Vlad admitted, looking pointedly at his rug; blackened and singed from _last time_. He got up from the bed, inspiration striking. "You can borrow a jumper if you like," he took one from his wardrobe and handed it to Robin.

Robin looked at it as if it might bite him. "It's yellow."

"Yeah," Vlad said, waiting for elaboration. He knew it was yellow.

"I don't wear yellow."

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Nobody's going to see, are they?" Except for him. He thought Robin would look cute in yellow. He _didn't_ think it would be an argument that would sway the other boy.

Robin hesitated for a long moment, gaze flickering from the jumper to the window and back again. Finally he shrugged out of his coat and hauled the jumper over his head, hastily bundling the coat back on and wrapping his arms across his chest.

"Any better?" Vlad asked, clambering back onto his bed and dropping his notes to the floor. He could never concentrate when Robin was around anyway.

"No." Robin sulked. "I'm still cold." He breathed out in an exaggerated way, breath misting in the icy cold of the room. "I can see my own breath." Scowling at Vlad he went on, "I'll probably freeze to death or something. I'm _not _sleeping on the floor." He looked down at his sleeping bag in distaste.

Vlad swallowed, an obvious solution presenting itself. Question was; did he dare suggest it? He stuttered, "You could share with me."

Before he had time to embark on a sufficient panic at the fact he'd said it aloud, Robin's hand was sliding up his forearm, pushing up the material of his sweater as he went. For all his complaining, Robin's hand felt burning hot against his own chilled skin. "What-" he croaked, having to start again as the touch of questing fingers sent tingles through his entire body, "What are you doing?"

Robin frowned, "Thought so." Vlad found himself unable to answer, Robin's hand still curled around his arm in a loose grip. Robin shook his head, "It'll be like sleeping with a corpse."

He sniffed deeply before realising Robin was referring to his body temperature, not odour.

"Still," Robin sighed, removing his hand, "It'll be better than nothing."

**xXx**

Vlad couldn't remember ever having been so desperate to go to bed in his entire life. He'd washed his face, cleaned his teeth, and got into his pyjamas in three minutes flat. Once he was back in his own bedroom, Robin complaining bitterly about anything and everything, he was terrified.

It was one thing to have Robin – the object of all his increasingly x-rated dreams – sleepover when there was a good four foot between them. It was quite another when that distance contracted to less than four inches.

He got into bed hesitantly, pulling the covers to his chin and lying tense and still in apprehension. Robin returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing pyjamas and the jumper he had borrowed, and clambered in beside him quickly.

"It's _so _cold, Vlad," Robin murmured. Vlad could hear his teeth chattering in the semi-darkness, only a few candles left burning. "I never thought I'd say this but, next week, you'll 'ave to sleep round mine."

Vlad turned to peer at Robin. It must be serious if Robin was willing to give up an opportunity to spend a night at the castle. Up close he could see the way Robin was shivering, could _feel _it. Before he had time to think about whether or not it was a good idea, he'd shifted closer, rubbing one hand up and down Robin's upper arm in an attempt to warm him up.

This near Robin felt warm to Vlad, breath hot and damp on his neck where he was leaning over him. The heat seemed to be impairing his ability to think clearly, his own body feeling as if it were on fire as the thought '_Robin's in my bed!_' went round and round in his head.

"Vlad?" Robin's tone was breathless and Vlad's hand stilled on his arm. Vlad met Robin's gaze slowly, swallowing at the dark heat in the other boy's eyes. He could hear Robin's heart pounding, was sure that, if it could, his own heart would be doing the same thing. When Robin's hand came up to curl softly around the back of his neck, fingers pushed into the base of his hair line, Vlad was glad it couldn't. The excitement the simple touch engendered would probably have killed him.

As it was he could barely keep still, his own hand moving from Robin's arm to his cheek almost of its own volition. He had dreamt of it so many times he could hardly believe it was happening. Robin's breathing was laboured, his other hand trailing under the material of his shirt, the touch forcing him to close his eyes with the effort of staying in control.

Robin didn't seem to have any such concerns, gentle pressure on his neck encouraging him to press closer still, to touch their lips together. The hand moved from his neck into his hair, angling his head as Robin deepened the kiss, the wet heat driving him wild. He couldn't get close enough, had Robin pinned underneath him and was pulling at the hem of his jumper within minutes.

Frustrated he finally sat back for a moment, letting Robin pull it over his head before taking it from him and throwing it to the floor. As soon as it was gone he launched a fresh assault on Robin, kissing him desperately before breaking away, trailing open mouthed kisses down the pale skin of the other boy's throat.

The feel of blood pulsing under his tongue was more intense than he could have ever imagined, and he groaned into the crook of Robin's neck, the press of thigh making his head swim even as he gave in to the mounting urge and sucked wetly at pale skin. Robin's reaction was as gratifying as it was sudden; his head arching back, entire body surging up to press closer, hands clutching at him feverishly.

"_Vlad_," Robin moaned, "Harder. _Please_." He obliged willingly, clamping down harder, the thought of marking Robin exciting him further. Everyone would know that Robin was _his_. He felt his fangs extend, shivering as they scraped skin. Robin was writhing beneath him, the grip on his hair tightening, a constant stream of gibberish passing his lips.

And, then, there was a hand pressed between them and Vlad couldn't hold back, barely stopping himself from breaking skin as he bit down, limbs trembling. He could feel Robin shaking against him, gasping for air, clinging to him.

When he finally felt capable of moving, Vlad squirmed into a more comfortable position, head resting on Robin's shoulder, arm across his chest. He could see the mark on Robin's neck, already a deep, angry purple. It filled him with a pride he knew he probably shouldn't feel.

Robin pulled the covers up around them, wrapping an arm around Vlad and pressing a clumsy kiss to his forehead. Vlad shut his eyes, knowing he was grinning stupidly.

"You sure you're not going to be too cold?" He asked after a moment, stifling a yawn.

"If I am," Robin said seriously, smiling all the same, "you'll just have to warm me up again, won't you?"


	25. Chapter 25

**[ _A/N: Some challenge ficlets._ ]**

**The Rules:**  
_1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.  
2. Turn your music player on and turn it on random/shuffle.  
3. Write a drabblet/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!  
4. Do ten of these, then post them._

**Today - Smashing Pumpkins**

He'd wanted it for so long; Vlad could hardly remember what it had felt like before. Before he had met Robin. Before it felt like the desperate ache in his chest would tear him apart.

He'd wanted it so badly, it burned like an obsession. Filling his every waking thought. Haunting his dreams. Wrapping itself around him tighter and tighter until he couldn't control himself.

He couldn't have the only one to have felt it. He tells himself this over and over. Robin hadn't pushed him away, had never said no.

It hadn't been his fault.

**Watchdogs - UB40**

Jonno will never appreciate it, he knows. Jonno will never even know. It's a scecret. His secret.

Sometimes, he thinks about what would happen if Jonno were to find out. To see him watching in the darkness.

He likes to think that instead of flying at him with a stake, Jonno would understand. He's not there for the hunt. Jonno might never be able to see him as more than a monster, but he'll keep up the silent watch. Protecting, safe-guarding, always alert and aware.

He knows and, really, that's all that's important.

**That'll Be The Day - Buddy Holly and The Crickets**

"Oh God," Robin hid his face in horror, "this is so embarrassing."

"I think it's sweet," Chloe said, bopping her head in time to the music.

Ingrid sneered, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Vlad smiled as Mrs. Branagh blushed, and held a hand to her chest. He thought it was sweet too.

"Elizabeth," Mr. Branagh called from the stage, dressed in scout issue shorts and a drape jacket, "This is for you."

**Don't Stay – Linkin' Park**

"You can't stay here," Vlad hissed, fangs glinting in the candlelight.

Robin didn't move, speaking quietly, "I'm not afraid of you."

Vlad snarled, "You _should_ be." Why couldn't Robin see what he was? Why couldn't he understand the danger he was in? "I don't need you," he lashed out, "I never needed you."

"I know," Robin met his gaze, placing a hand on his arm as if it had every right in the world to be there, "but I need you."

**Smuggler – The McCalmans**

The words seemed oddly familiar, although he couldn't at first decipher why. Perhaps it was something Vlad had played on his music receiver? But no, flashes of memory came to him. Candlelight, and dancing, and the heady smell of human blood.

Saliva flooded his mouth at the remembered taste, the way Magda had drunk deeply, sharing it with him. Magda… He glanced up sharply at Ingrid's bowed head, the profile of her face more similar to that of her mother with every passing day. He stared.

"What?" she snapped finally, "take a picture, it'll last longer."

If that night Renfield found the dust sheet had been removed from Magda's portrait, he wisely didn't pass comment on it.

**Ganja Breed – Sean Paul ft Chico**

"It won't do you any harm," Robin assured, inhaling deeply.

Vlad watched as he exhaled, as the smoke curled around his head and a dopy grin spread across his face. "I don't think I should."

"You're the Prince of Darkness," Robin giggled, passing him the spliff, "You have to try it."

He took it, staring at it for a long moment before trying to copy what Robin had just done. The smoke choked him, the acrid taste in his mouth making him cough and gasp for air.

Robin took it back, wrapping a heavy arm around his shoulders and giggling again, "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to," Vlad murmered. Robin placed a clumsy kiss to his cheek and leaned closer, resting his weight against him. Vlad smiled in spite of himself.

**One to Ten – Se7en**

"What's this?" Robin grimaced, inclining his head at the stereo.

Vlad smirked, "Music."

"Not funny, Vlad." Robin shook his head, pointing at Vlad with his pencil. "It's rubbish whatever it is."

"It's not rubbish," Vlad protested. He was pretty sure he never wanted Robin to find out but, in his head, this was_ their_ song. "If you knew what they were saying, you'd understand." He added quietly.

It was a fortnight later when Robin turned up at his doorstep with a bunch of flowers wrapped in black ribbon.

"That song?" He blushed, handing Vlad the flowers. "I looked it up."

**Clown – Korn**

Boys don't cry.

That's what all the other boys had always said, crowding around him, twisting his arm behind his back until he was sure it would snap. Pain searing across his senses until he'd give in – and he always gave in – tears streaking his face while they watched on and laughed.

Now that they don't care he can control it. Would sooner die than someone see him cry. Boys don't, he thinks the first time Vlad sobs into his shirt that he hates fate. But, Vlad's not a boy.

He's a vampire.

**Android – Green Day**

Robin thinks it must be terrible to grow old. To become bland and normal and _boring_. He knows that before – before there was Chloe and him and the twins – his Dad would never have been caught dead listening to Cliff Richard. Knows from the stories his Nan tells him, and the faded photographs in his parents' photograph album.

It happened to him all the same.

That's why he thinks it would be _so_ cool to be a vampire. If you never got old, you could never become boring.

**Wishing (if I had a photograph of you) – A Flock of ****Seagulls**

Sometimes Will wishes there were no such things as vampires. It's cool, of course. And the castle is infinitely better than the dismal bedsit he had been sharing with his old man and his dead-end brothers.

But, still, sometimes when Ingrid smiles. Really smiles, something so rare and so fleeting he can hardly remember it afterwards, he wishes they were human. If they were human he could take a photograph; keep the moment forever.

Wishes, he had learnt early on in life, never come true.


	26. Chapter 26

**[_ A/N: Challenge from werepuppyblack! _]**

Bloodthirsty, heartless, devoid of any and all compassionate emotion. That was how he was supposed to be, he knew. At Council he did his best, snarling and flashing his fangs at the opposition. Sneering down his nose, and pressing threatening fingers into the soft flesh of milk white throats when he didn't get his own way.

It was what was expected of him, he understood.

As time went on it became almost second nature. As if the Vlad he had once been was gone, lost forever behind a carefully constructed mask. He had no-one to be his true self with, no-one who would want to spend time with his true self.

It was his fate, he accepted.

Perhaps he would have forgotten that he had ever been anything else, anything less than a 'real' vampire. Perhaps. He never had to find out, fingers clenching around the arms of his throne in shock as a familiar figure was thrown down at his feet. Eyes wide with disbelief as Robin – _Robin_ – scowled up at him.

It was love, he'd always been certain.

He'd always wanted Robin. Had pined, and wished and dreamed endlessly about Robin wanting him in return. Later, he had chosen men who looked like him; dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin. None of them had ever been good enough. Robin had stared him down, the opposition asking why there was a breather still living in the chamber. Why he had not tore out Robin's jugular for daring to look him in the eye.

It was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

That's how the saying went. It was a lie, Vlad knew. Without Robin he hadn't the courage to be who he was, to be anything other than a washed out stereotype. He made two pledges that day. The first: to lead the vampire race into a new dawn, a new age of peace and compromise. The second: to never let Robin slip through his fingers for a second time.

He kept both.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Another writing meme - cos I love them so!**_

_**1. Write down the names of 10 characters.  
2. Write a drabble-esque fic for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.**_

**CHARACTERS (in no particular order):**  
#01. Vladimir Dracula  
#02. Robin Branagh  
#03. The Count  
#04. Ingrid Dracula  
#05. Paul Branagh  
#06. Jonno Van Helsing  
#07. Eric Van Helsing  
#08. Chloe Branagh  
#09. Ian Branagh  
#10. Mr. Branagh

* * *

**PROMPTS:**

**+ First Time, 4 and 6 (Ingrid / Jonno)**

Jonno can hardly believe it is happening. _Ingrid Count_ pressed up against him, whispering things in his ear that he's never dared dream of. He's never been so glad of PTA meetings in his entire life.

"You'll enjoy this," Ingrid hisses hotly, lips brushing the skin of his neck.

_'I know'_ is the last coherent thought he ever has.

* * *

**+ Angst, 7 (Eric Van Helsing)**

'Slaying is your destiny,' was what he was always told. 'It's in your blood.'

When he was young he fought against it; didn't want to believe, didn't want to accept. Now he sees Jonno do the same and it breaks his heart. There is no other option, if there were he would take it. One day, he hopes, Jonno will understand.

* * *

**+ AU, 1 and 8 (Vlad / Chloe)**

"There are no such thing as _vampires_," Robin says, shaking his head. "You really need to get a life, Chloe. Vlad'll go right off you." He takes in her pale face and purple lipstick with a grimace, tugging at his football socks as the twins get their coats. She was so _weird_.

"Just think," he hears Chloe say to Vlad on the way out, their pale fingers entwined, "a twist of fate and it could have been _him_ sat here."

He pulls a face and looks back at them, meeting Vlad's eye. The other boy's gaze is heated and sad and something else all at the same time. Correction, he thinks.

They were both weird.

* * *

**+ Threesome, 3, 6 and 9 (Count / Jonno / Ian)**

"I don't think we should be down here. Ingrid won't like it."

He hears one of the infernal Branagh spawn chattering and grimaces. His beautiful castle overrun with peasant scum.

"I'm sure she said to, er, meet her here."

Van Helsing. He sniffs the air, the scent of slayer unmistakable. With a flourish he lifts the lid of his coffin, enjoying the way their eyes widened and the thick smell of fear.

"We were just, er, looking for Ingrid, Mr. Count," the elder stutters, rooted to the spot. Van Helsing just shrinks back against him.

"She isn't here," he drawls, flitting to press himself behind the Branagh boy, reaching out to trail cold fingers down Van Helsing's throat. "But, trust me, it won't be a wasted trip."

Van Helsing swallowed harshly, the quickening of his blood like music to his ears. What they couldn't remember wouldn't hurt them.

* * *

**+ Hurt/Comfort, 5 and 10 (Paul / Mr. B - gen because incest is ick!)**

"She says I'm stupid." Paul says morosely. "A repulsive blot on the face of the earth." He sighs deeply, chin resting on his hands. It's like Robin has doubled Mr. Branagh thinks ruefully.

"An' I really love her," Paul goes on. "I wrote a song for an' everything."

Mr. Branagh puts a hand on Paul's shoulder, not quite knowing what to say. This camping trip was supposed to take his mind off it, but it didn't seem to be working. "Why don't you go and help Francis with the dinner?" He suggests finally.

Paul pulls a face, ready to protest when Francis stuck her head through the flap of her tent, long hair falling over her ample chest. "Did I hear the sound of someone volunteering?"

"Yeah," Paul beams, "thanks Dad."

Mr. Branagh watches him go with a smile, gaze finally falling upon Robin's sulking form. If only all his problems could be solved so easily.

* * *

**+ Crack fic, 1 (Vlad)**

"Aw, Vlad it's going to be _awesome_." Robin was grinning at him, shifting from foot to foot in impatient excitement. In front of them Chloe was explaining to Jonno the science of how the ride stayed in the air without its riders incurring certain death.

To his left a boy who looked about his own age took a hammer to a loose peg, clapping it once, twice before announcing it 'was as good as it was going to get'. Vlad swallowed thickly. He was too young to die. In more ways than one.

Pulsing dance music blared over the loudspeakers as the line shuffled forward, his stomach lurching at the realisation this was _it_. Robin dragged him by the elbow and dumped him unceremoniously into the seat. His fingers went white around the bar as it jolted into action, eyes clenched shut in terror.

"I don't like it," he protested desperately, "I want to get off."

"Don't be a girl," Robin admonished before words were lost to the biting wind.

**xXx**

"Did it work?" Chloe pitched quietly for Robin's ears alone when they were back on solid ground, Vlad still clutching at Robin like a lifeline, arms wrapped around him. Robin grinned, giving his sister a thumbs up with the hand that wasn't petting Vlad's hair,

"Like a treat."

* * *

**+ Horror, 10 (Mr. Branagh)**

The dark was unnerving, the atmosphere thick and cloying. It clung to him, swirling around him thicker and thicker, the smell of damp and decay. Death, he thought wildly. It smelt like death.

"Couldn't keep away, could you _peasant_?" A horribly familiar voice drawls behind him, the press of ice cold fingers to the back of his neck sending thrills of terror down his spine.

"Y-You," he stutters, "Can't do this."

There is a flash of light, an instant of fangs and black soulless eyes.

"I think you'll find," the voice hisses in his ear , "I can."

* * *

**+ Baby fic, 5 and 9 (Paul and Ian - how lucky was that!?)**

"It wasn't me," might as well have been the first words the twins learnt, or so Mrs. Branagh sometimes thought. The mucky fingerprints on the freshly painted walls. The broken panes of glass in the door, and the punctured rugby ball. The three inches of water flooding the kitchen floor and the box of washing powder tipped down the toilet.

No matter what – no matter how many times they were caught red-handed - it was never their fault.

But, when they clambered on to the sofa, one either side, all sticky smiles and stickier hugs, she couldn't help but forgive them.


	28. Chapter 28

**[ _A/N: Written based on a plot bunny from overlord_mordax on livejournal. Mature themes and slash - if it's not your thing, skip this chapter!_ ]**

"_Vlad_," Robin groaned in his ear, pulling him closer and pressing kisses to the exposed skin of his throat. It was that which broke through the haze of pleasure in his head and forced him to push at Robin's chest. To move away. This was not why he had snuck in through Robin's bedroom window.

"What's wrong?" Robin asked, the obvious concern on his expressive face making what he was about to do a thousand times harder.

Vlad wrung his hands together, not able to look Robin in the eye. "We need to split up."

"What!?" Robin demanded, voice overly loud in the otherwise silent household. "Why!?"

"We _have_ to," Vlad told him, screwing his eyes tight shut against the sting of tears. He didn't want to, he hoped Robin understood that. If he had a choice he would never give up what they had. "It's next week, Robin. _Next week_."

"So that's it then?" Robin' tone was cold. "I'm not good enough for you now you're going to be a _real vampire_." The stress on the last two words was vicious and Vlad shook his head in frustration. They had been having the same dead-end argument about it for months. He was _not _going to put himself in a situation where he could kill Robin.

"You know that's not the reason," Vlad said, getting up from the bed and pacing. "What if I, I dunno, lose control and bite you or something?"

"Then I'll be a vampire too and you can stop worrying about it."

"Robin!" Vlad wished Robin could understand what he was saying. "I would never, ever, _ever_ turn you. Ever!"

Robin stared at him for a moment, expression flashing from hurt to anger to some kind of resignation that made Vlad want to look away. "Fine. Whatever." Robin made a show of straightening out his blankets, getting ready to go to sleep. "Get out of my room."

Vlad hesitated for a long moment, the desire to go and beg Robin to forgive him almost overpowering him. Biting his lip he turned away and made for the window. He knew he was doing the right thing. There was no other way it could be this painful.

**xXx**

"Today is the day!" The Count could hardly keep still with excitement, sitting in his throne one moment, hovering over Vlad at the breakfast table the next. "The day _my son_ becomes the most powerful vampire to have ever unlived."

"Don't get your hopes up," Ingrid said disinterestedly, flicking through the newspaper, "He'll probably beg it to kill him so he doesn't have to do it himself."

"Ingrid!" The Count snapped, "Your brother cannot wait to fulfil his destiny. Can you Vlad?"

"Hmm," Vlad managed, pushing his cereal round and round the bowl. It was going to be awful. An eternity of drinking blood. An eternity of controlling the desire to destroy everything in his path. And eternity without Robin.

The bell sounded and the Count crowed with glee. "It is time."

**xXx**

"No, I won't forget," Vlad ground out. His temper felt so much closer to the surface, it was a struggle not to just give in and storm from the room like he wanted to do. It felt like he had been introduced to every vampire on the planet. All he wanted was to go to bed.

Bed, _not_ the coffin Granny Dracula had sent him.

"And after biting practice, you'll be expected at the Council," Granny Westenra went on, pausing to eye him up and down in displeasure. "He gets it from you, Dracula."

"Yes," the Count clapped a hand on Vlad's shoulder, "his roguish charm and devilish good looks."

"No," Granny said, fixing the Count with a pointed look, "his blatant wimpirism."

Ingrid sniggered as Granny Westenra pulled her cape around her and disappeared from the room. The Count stood gaping before bringing a heavy booted foot down on the nearest surface. It just happened to be Renfield's toes.

Vlad surveyed the resultant chaos with a pained expression. Ingrid doubled over laughing as Renfield spilled the leftovers he had been taking to the kitchen all over the Count.

It was definitely time for bed, he thought, sneaking silently from the room. He'd earned it.

**xXx**

Up in his bedroom he unclasped his best dress cape and threw it to the floor. He could still taste the acrid tang of blood from dinner. He wanted more, even as the thought of what it was made him feel sick.

There was a shuffling noise and he froze. "Who's there?"

His every muscle was tense, ready to pounce when a familiar figure palmed on the light switch.

"Robin!" Vlad was at the other boy's side in an instant, fingers almost touching his cheek when he remembered why he was supposed to be avoiding him. "What are you doing here!?"

"Anyone'd think you weren't happy to see me," Robin said sniffily, folding his arms across his chest.

"I-" Vlad bit back the growl starting low in his throat; he _was_ in control. "You're not supposed to be here." There was scarcely any space between them and Vlad was surprised he wasn't being driven half mad with bloodlust. He had thought he would be able to _smell_ Robin, to sense the pulse of blood beneath his skin.

"I know, I know, in case you bite me," Robin rolled his eyes and took hold of Vlad's pale wrist, bringing his hand up to his chest. Vlad watched with wide eyes as Robin pressed his palm over his heart. Instead of heat and the steady thump that ought to be there, there was nothing.

Vlad wrenched his hand away, fear rising.

"What," He looked into Robin's eyes, noticing for the first time how dark they were, how they were missing their usual humour, "What have you done?" The words came out as a whisper, the desperate thought that he _didn't want to know_ ricocheting around his head.

Robin smiled at him, although it looked nothing like any smile he had seen from Robin before. It was seductive and sinister, not the crooked grin that invariably made his stomach turn somersaults.

"Your Dad did it," Robin took a step towards him, radiating confidence. Vlad jerked away.

"What!?"

"I asked him to," Robin touched a hand to his jawbone, looking more like his usual self. In a way it was worse because it meant that it was really happening. "I did it for you."

"No!" Vlad shook his head, batting the hand away. The strain of the day seemed to overwhelm him; the long and vicious fight with his reflection he had started to think would never end. The scrutiny of the elders at the feast. The weight of expectation on his shoulders.

And, then, his worst nightmare come true. He met Robin's gaze then,

"Whatever you do, don't _ever_ say you did this for me."

**xXx**

"I don't understand why you're being like this," Robin sighed, trailing his fingers along the lid of Vlad's new coffin. Vlad rubbed at his temples. He had spent the last half hour yelling at his father, being met with the same casual indifference. Why was he the only one who could see how awful the situation was?

"It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal!" Vlad winced at how hysterical he sounded. "What are you going to say when you can't go to school tomorrow!? Oh, sorry Mum, didn't I tell you I was going to join the ranks of the undead!" He was on his feet by this point, yelling into Robin's face.

"You're fit when you're angry."

"Robin, I'm being serious!"

"So am I."

It was like all the insecurities that Robin had harboured had disappeared. The hand that slid into his hair, holding his head in place was totally sure of itself. The kiss Vlad found himself pulled into was controlled and forceful, as if Robin had absolutely no doubt of his right to demand it.

Even as he knew he shouldn't, Vlad submitted, letting Robin plunder his mouth, slide his hands underneath his shirt and push him back towards the bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge and Robin kept pushing, clambering on top of him, mouth leaving his only to start a separate assault on the sensitive skin of his neck.

"_Robin_," it came out as a breathy moan, nothing like the commanding tone he had wanted. He shuddered violently at the scrape of what he instinctively knew were fangs against his throat. Robin was tearing at the buttons of his shirt, sending plastic flying, before scrabbling forcefully at his belt.

They had never done anything like this before, never done anything other than exchange kisses and slide nervous fingers against the exposed strip of skin between shirt and waistband. It was sending waves of heat through him such as he had never expected to be able to feel again.

Robin was sucking at his neck, finally getting his belt free and, after a moment of fumbling with his fly, wrapped a hand around him. One of Vlad's hands came up to clench in Robin's hair, holding his head in place, the other pulling at Robin's shirt, pressing him closer still.

"Do you want me to stop?" Robin asked, words muffled against his throat and Vlad shook his head, thrusting up into Robin's hand even as part of him screamed that he shouldn't. That what was happening was all wrong.

Then Robin was moving, dropping soft kisses across his chest, hand leaving him only to pull his clothing out of the way. Vlad only realised what he was about to do when he pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He raised himself up his elbows, the heat prickling at his skin as Robin met his gaze, dark eyes almost black. And, then – _then_ – he couldn't think, couldn't stop, couldn't do anything other fall back against the bed and moan.

"_Robin_," dimly, somewhere, there was the vague idea that his grip in Robin's hair was tight enough to hurt, but Robin didn't stop. The slick wet heat of his mouth bringing him to the brink so fast he was trembling all over. "_Robin_," he tried again, warning this time, as the press of tongue convinced him that he wouldn't – _couldn't_ – last much longer.

Robin didn't move away, if anything grew more enthusiastic as Vlad went still save the compulsive quivering of his limbs. He clenched his teeth, his grip in Robin's hair tightening still further, senseless noises falling from his lips at being _so close_. And then it was happening, pleasure sharp and bright as Robin swallowed around him.

He slumped back into the bed, chest heaving with exertion; gulping in great lungfuls of air he didn't need in an attempt to calm his raging emotions. Robin crawled back up to face him, collapsing in a sprawl of gangly limbs. Vlad reached a hand for him, sliding it down his side, across his hip and finally pressing it to the front of Robin's boxers.

"I-" Robin diverted his gaze slightly, looking embarrassed for the first time that night, "I had to – You looked so – I couldn't stop myself." Vlad smiled in spite of himself, tangling the hand instead back in Robin's hair, careful to be gentle this time, and kissed him.

When they pulled apart he tried to be serious, worry surging within him again. "What are we going to do?"

Robin laid his head on Vlad's chest, hand reaching for the one not in his hair and curling their fingers together. "Maybe you're right," he said, voice quiet, "I didn't do it for you. I just-" He paused, thumb stroking against his hand. "I didn't want to be without you."

Vlad shut his eyes, happiness and terror for the future warring for dominance. "I love you too, Robin. You know that."

Robin 'hmmm'ed, and Vlad could feel his smile against the exposed skin of his chest. They'd work something out, he held Robin's hand tighter, he'd make sure of it.

"Vlad!" Robin sat up suddenly, fixing him with wild eyes. "_What_ am I going to tell my Mam!?"

Somehow 'I told you so', Vlad thought, staring back in bemusement, just didn't cover it.


	29. Chapter 29

**[ _A/N: "__I don't wanna have to shout it out. I don't want my hair to fall out. I don't wanna be filled with doubt. I don't wanna be a good boy scout. I don't wanna have to learn to count. I don't wanna have the biggest amount. No, I don't want to grow up!" – The Ramones. =D _]**

"What is this noise!?" The Count howled, emerging in the doorway from the crypt in his dressing gown.

Vlad looked up from the maths homework he was working on with Robin – or for Robin, the latter's input being somewhere between limited and non-existent – and shrugged. "It's Ingrid, she won't turn it down."

Above their heads punk music blared, the vocals snarled and out of tune, the backing track sounded, to Vlad's ears at least, much the same.

"She calls this music?" The Count grimaced, "We didn't have this in my day." He put a hand to his chest, staring wistfully into a past that Vlad was glad he knew little about, "We had real music. The swell of the violin; the echo of the organ; the delicate tones of the harp."

"I prefer this," Robin said, inclining his head upstairs in the direction of Ingrid's room.

The Count scowled. "Yes, well, _you_ would." He raised an eyebrow, catching Vlad's eye with a smirk, "One cannot expect a peasant to have any appreciation for the finer things in death." Vlad just looked away.

Dust shook from the chandelier as Ingrid deemed it still wasn't loud enough and the Count's attention was drawn away from his perpetual mission to encourage Vlad to use Robin as a human shaped juice carton. "Ingrid!" He bellowed, a crack of thunder outside the castle signalling his intense displeasure, and he disappeared upstairs.

"It's so cool how he does that," Robin grinned, slouching back in his seat and throwing his pen down on the table, giving up all pretence of working on quadratic equations.

"Yeah, _amazing_," Vlad muttered.

"It is," Robin agreed, sighing, "My Dad has never done a single cool thing in his entire life."

**xXx**

"You look," Vlad swallowed, eyes raking up and down Robin's lanky form, "cool." _Edible_ was totally unsuitable he decided. Robin would only misunderstand, anyway.

"Really?" Robin asked, looking less than pleased. He looked down at himself, at the skin tight jeans currently moulding themselves to his long legs. "I'll 'ave to go and get changed now."

"Why?" Vlad frowned, nodding a greeting at the twins as he slid into a seat at the Branagh's kitchen table.

Robin gave him a look that said he should know the answer already. "Because," he said, stressing the syllables as if Vlad were a bit slow, "if you like it, it must be lame." He shook his head, "Look at what you're wearing."

Vlad couldn't see what was wrong with his neat shirt and sweater combo. Old people always commented that he looked very smart. He bet they never said that to Robin.

"He's got sense," Paul said, mouth full of a sandwich, "you're going to do yourself an injury in those."

"Yeah," Ian agreed. "Sit down a bit quick and it'll bring tears to your eyes."

Paul nodded seriously. Robin sneered at both of them and sat down, although Vlad noted he did so cautiously. "What's that?" Robin asked, looking pointedly at the ringbinder in Vlad's hands.

The question shook Vlad out of his reverie – he had been busy admiring the contrast between Robin's dark hair and his unblemished milky skin – and he opened it hurriedly. "Our history project, remember? We really need to start working on it." At Robin's pained expression he glared, "And, no, we can't put it off any longer."

"What's it on?" Paul asked, peering at the project title and aims Vlad had diligently copied out in his best handwriting.

Robin sighed, "Youth culture. We've got to find out what our parents were doing when they were our age." He snorted, "Sat round a campfire singing Ging Gang Goolie, I expect." He gave Vlad a long suffering look, "Nothing's changed there then," A grin curled across his face, enthusiasm suddenly flooding back, "Can't we go and ask_ your _Dad instead?"

"No." Vlad said flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because," Vlad glanced across at the twins' curious faces and lowered his voice, whispering, "It's been nearly 600 years since my Dad was our age. What's that going to look like?" He imitated his Dad's voice, "I spent my days ensconced in my coffin and my nights draining the blood of delectable peasants."

"It'll be more interesting," Robin said.

"Yeah," Vlad answered impatiently, "and we'll both be put on report for messing about."

"Aw, alright," Robin gave in miserably, "but," he fixed Vlad with a despondent gaze, "if we die of boredom, it's your fault."

**xXx**

"Vlad," Mrs. Branagh smiled up at him as they traipsed into the living room, "You're looking very smart today."

He smiled back at her. Robin turned and gave him a look which suggested this was something he should not be pleased about.

"_Yeah_," Robin said sarcastically, "anyway, where's Dad? We need to ask you both some questions for school."

"He's been called out on an emergency job." She wrinkled her nose, "It's a nasty blockage, and they can't shift it."

Robin grimaced.

"I can answer them though," Mrs. Branagh went on serenely.

Vlad went to sit next to Robin on the sofa and flicked through his ringbinder for his explanation sheet. He handed it to Mrs. Branagh.

"It won't take long, Mam," Robin told her, "Just tell us a bit about your hippy songs or something and then we're going swimming." Robin nudged Vlad and grinned, "All the girls are going."

Vlad smiled weakly, he couldn't really imagine anything _less_ appealing than spending an afternoon watching Robin ogle a bunch of stupid girls. Even if he was going to be doing it half naked.

To their surprise Mrs. Branagh started laughing. Oblivious to Robin's scowling she got up and started rooting through a cabinet in the corner, pulling out a couple of brightly bound photograph albums. "Your father and I weren't hippies," She said in amusement, flicking through one album with a slightly wistful expression.

Robin gave Vlad a significant glance and muttered, "Even that would 'ave been too cool for them."

"This is what Graham looked like when I met him," Mrs. Branagh said, sliding a photograph free and handing it to them, "Wasn't he handsome?" She grinned at Vlad. Vlad squirmed uncomfortably and glanced nervously at Robin, hoping he hadn't picked up on what Mrs. Branagh seemed to know instinctively about him.

He needn't have worried.

Robin was gaping at the picture in open-mouthed shock. Vlad shifted closer to see it for himself and almost joined him. Were it not for the grainy picture quality, and the fact that Robin had yet to shave his hair into a messy punk style – although Ingrid's current obsession with the genre suggested it might only be a matter of time – the scowling figure could have been_ Robin_.

**xXx**

"But I don't understand," Robin was still looking flabbergasted, "he's such a loser."

"Robin," Mrs. Branagh scolded, "Your Dad's not a loser." She took the photograph from his unresisting fingers and stared at it, "You just change as you grow up, that's all. I don't look like I did back then!" She handed them another photograph and Vlad looked up at her in shock.

The girl in the picture, no older than they themselves were, was wearing more make-up than Ingrid would get through in a week, hair spiked out around her head. He glanced at Mrs. Branagh again; he couldn't quite believe it was the same person.

"I was a hellraiser in those days!" Mrs. Branagh went on, oblivious to Robin's wide-eyed incredulity, "I used to go and see all your father's gigs, it took me hours to get my hair like that. It was worth it though, when he noticed me." She grinned, "I lied to him and told him I was 18 so I could drink." She shook her head, "You should have seen your granddad's face when I brought him home for the first time!"

"He was in a band?" Robin stuttered out, "but he listens to _Cliff Richard_!"

**xXx**

By the time Mr. Branagh got back from unblocking the toilets of Stokely cinema, Robin had hauled a box full of memorabilia from his parents' youth from the attic – swimming forgotten - and was sifting through it with increasing agitation.

"What's going on here?" Mr. Branagh asked, picking up a record sleeve emblazoned with 'The Revenants' and almost dropping it in surprise. "Where did you find this?"

"In the attic," Robin told him accusingly. "Why 'aven't you ever said anything about all this?"

Mr. Branagh put down his toolbox, the question seeming to barely register. "This brings back some memories," he was taking the record from its sleeve and switching on the hi-fi. The speakers crackled and popped as the needle touched the vinyl, Mr. Branagh adjusting the volume as a snarled, 'Oi! 2, 3, 4!' precipitated a riot of badly played guitars.

"Ingrid was playing this," Vlad said in sudden recognition, "yesterday."

"Was she?" Mr. Branagh asked curiously, "I don't know where she got a copy from. Getting on a bit now, this is."

"This is you," Robin asked, pointing at the record deck, the cardboard sleeve hanging limply from his other hand. He shook his head in disbelief, "this is you." He looked Mr. Branagh up and down,

"What happened?"

Mr. Branagh looked affronted. "Just because I don't like all your _Marlene Manson_ and _Funeral for my Valentine_," Robin assumed a pained expression, "doesn't mean I'm some old fogey."

"But look at you," Robin protested, gesturing the photograph albums on the table, "How can you go from that to," he grimaced, "_that?"_

"When you grow up, Robin," Mr. Branagh said sniffily, "You'll understand." He fixed him with a pointed look,

"Nobody wants to hire a plumber with a safety pin rammed through their eyebrow."

And that, to Vlad's relief, signalled the end of the conversation.

**xXx**

"That's what's going to happen to me," Robin said quietly, knees hugged to his chest, "Before I know it I'm going to be buying Cliff Richard's greatest hits and be obsessed with Kendal mint cake."

"Robin," Vlad soothed, hating the miserable look on the other boy's face, "Just because your Dad changed, doesn't mean you will."

"He's right though, isn't he?" Robin glanced around his bedroom walls at his drawings of bats and castles, finally settling once again on Vlad, "It's alright for you. But I'm going to 'ave to get a job, and then I'll 'ave to get married or something and then, without me even realising it's happening, I'm going to become _normal_."

Vlad scoffed, shifting to sit closer to Robin, their backs leaning against Robin's bedroom wall, "Trust me, you're never going to be normal."

Robin just shook his head, "That's what happens when you grow up." He sighed, "You're so lucky, you're never going to have that problem."

"I'll still have loads of responsibility though," Vlad said, thinking of his upcoming initiation ceremony to the Council. It terrified him every time the thought crossed his mind. He forced a smile, "So it'll suck for both of us."

"Do you think we'll stay friends?" Robin asked suddenly. "Do you think in twenty years time you'll still want to hang out with me?"

Vlad met Robin's gaze solemnly, the desire to just tell Robin how certain he was that he'd love him just as much in twenty years as he did now like a physical ache, "I _know_ I will. Even if you do start listening to Cliff."

"You'd love that," Robin grinned, "He's your favourite." His expression grew more serious, "I hope you will, Vlad. I don't know what I'd do without you around."

"I told you before," Vlad said, tone half joking, but completely sincere, "My life," he amended," _un_life wouldn't be worth living without you."

Robin gave him a searching look for a long moment before looking away. Silence reigned, but it wasn't awkward, and Vlad shifted closer so that their shoulders were touching. In the quiet he heard Robin swallow and then felt warm fingers touching his hand, entwining with his own. He squeezed back, leaning a little closer into Robin, feeling the tension drain out of the other boy's frame.

"So," Robin said, tone conversational, but his thumb was rubbing softly against the skin of the back of his hand, "Are you going to tell Ingrid her new favourite band features my Dad?"

"Nah," Vlad smiled, laying his head on Robin's shoulder, "I thought I'd let you do it."

Robin pressed an awkward kiss to his hair, "_Awesome_."


	30. Chapter 30

[ **_A/N: Inspired by the photos of Craig Roberts' chav-tastic highlights for his appearance in 'Full Time' for Y Touring theatre. XD_** ]

"Branagh," Van Helsing drawled, "Are you incapable of telling the difference between a classroom and the playground?"

"No, Sir," Robin muttered, gaze down on his desk.

"Then would you care to enlighten me as to why you're wearing a hat?"

Robin squirmed in his seat and Vlad watched him curiously. It wasn't like Robin not to have some witty comeback. Since Van Helsing had been made their form teacher it was a rare lunchtime in which Robin wasn't serving detention with him.

"Take it off, Branagh." Van Helsing glared at him, "_Now_."

Reluctantly Robin lifted a hand to his head, hesitating for a moment before pulling the beanie hat away. Vlad bit at his lip, feeling the muscles in his cheek twitch with the effort of not laughing.

Nobody else seemed inclined to try, laughter rippling across the room.

"Nice hair, Branagh!" Davis called, snickering.

"Suits you!" Watson added, grinning all across his face in amusement.

"You look like a right –"

"Yes, Price, _thank you_," Van Helsing cut him off, "Get some work out." There was murmuring as the class obeyed. "Silently!"

Vlad got his maths book out, unable to take his eyes off Robin. Robin glowered at him,

"Don't. Say. One. Word."

**xXx**

"Accident, was it?" Jonno Van Helsing asked as they got changed for games. Vlad was glad it was their last lesson and Robin's mood would have a chance to improve away from their classmates.

"No," Robin hissed.

"You paid for _that_!?" Jonno's tone was incredulous and Vlad felt he should probably intervene before the wind changed and Robin was stuck scowling viciously forever. He much preferred it when Robin smiled.

"It's not that bad."

"What are you on about, Count?" Price said, shaking his head. "It's awful."

"Terrible," Watson agreed.

"I'd be too ashamed to go outside if it were me," Davis added.

"Right," Robin threw his football boots down in a strop, "that's it! I don't 'ave to put up with this!"

Before he could persuade him otherwise Robin was storming from the changing rooms, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Significant looks passed between the boys as Jenkins stuck his head out of his office door to see what the commotion was about.

"It was Branagh, Sir," Price called by way of explanation.

"Maybe I should go and speak to him?" Vlad suggested. "He might need to see the nurse or something." Robin wouldn't get into trouble if Jenkins thought he was ill. Not as much trouble, anyway.

"There's only one thing Branagh needs," Jenkins said, looking at Robin's abandoned games kit in disdain, "and that's a good kick up the arse!"

**xXx**

Vlad loitered outside the changing rooms, grimacing as he heard Jenkins' yells through the walls. Robin would be an even worse mood when he got out; he never reacted well to being told off. Even if, more often than not, he deserved it.

After a few more minutes Robin slammed his way outside, muttering dark threats under his breath. He didn't notice Vlad until he put a hand on his arm and called his name, scurrying along beside the taller boy to keep up with his vicious strides.

"What do you want Vlad!?" Robin turned on him, yelling. "Just leave me alone!"

"Fine," Vlad spat back, hiding his hurt behind a display of temper, "I was only trying to be nice because I'm supposed to be your _best friend_ but, if you don't want to speak to me, then I'll just get out of your way."

He made to storm off in the direction of home, wishing they didn't have to walk the same way because it meant he was going to look like an idiot when he couldn't walk fast enough to avoid Robin. He'd only managed a few steps before there was a hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

"I'm sorry," Robin sighed, "I'm just fed up with everyone 'aving a go and laughing at me."

"Yeah?" Vlad said sniffily, "Well don't take it out on me." They fell into step beside each other, the streets void of the usual rush of students by merit of how long Jenkins had kept Robin behind.

"I told my Mam I didn't want it done," Robin said after a few minutes of silence. "I knew everyone would take the mick."

Vlad glanced up at him, considering. It really wasn't _that_ bad. "You could just dye it back?" He suggested.

Robin grimaced, "Mam'll go spare if I do that. She'll be all upset and everything." He rolled his eyes, "She thinks it'll get all the girls after me." He shook his head, whining, "As if I needed any help."

"I could tell her you'll have to dye it back then," Vlad smirked, judging that Robin's mood had improved enough that he wasn't going to give him the cold shoulder all night for the comment. "I don't want loads of girls flinging themselves at you."

"I can't help it if I'm fit," Robin said, although he was smiling back at him, eyes soft. Quieter, he added, "Is it really that bad?" Embarrassed, he finished, "I don't want you to go off me or anything."

"Robin," Vlad smiled, stopping in the middle of the path, "I could never go off you."

"Yeah?" Robin breathed, glancing around them – checking for prying eyes – before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Well, that's alright then."

"And," Vlad grinned widely, starting to walk again, "if all else fails; you could always wear your hat."

If Robin clipped him across the back of the head at that, well, Vlad reasoned, he'd probably earned it.


	31. Chapter 32

"Yeah, right," Ian scoffed, "Like a fit girl would be texting you."

"She is!" Robin protested, leaning forward in the cramped confines of Paul's car to hand his brother his mobile phone.

"Bloody hell!" Ian said, "Bruv, 'ave a look at this!"

Paul took it, eyes flickering between the road and the screen. Robin smirked smugly; they'd have to take back all their teasing. Delila wasn't just texting him, she was sending photos and inviting him round to hers; _and_ her parents were away.

"Sure it's not just Vlad in disguise?" Paul grinned, scrolling through his inbox.

"Don't be such a dick!" He spat, reaching to grab his phone from Paul.

He never got chance. There was swerving, and the sound of Paul cursing the air blue and, then, nothing.

**xXx**

"Robin said he'd be here by now," Vlad sighed despondently, glancing at his wristwatch.

"I hear he's got himself a girlfriend," Ingrid said, beaming at the sight of his unhappiness. "Can't blame him for giving you the brush-off for her." She shrugged, "Or anyone."

Vlad scowled, "She's not even nice to him. I mean, what has she got that I haven't?"

Ingrid sneered at him, "I hope that's a rhetorical question. Or," she put on the voice she saved especially for mocking him with, "am I going to have to teach you about the difference between little boys and little girls?"

"You think you're – " he was interrupted by a banging at the door and he grinned triumphantly. "That'll be him now."

**xXx**

"Vlad," Mrs. Branagh managed, her face pale and drained. She started sobbing into one hand and he resisted the urge to demand somebody tell him what was going on. Instead he asked quietly,

"Is he – Has he – " He couldn't get the word out, couldn't even bear to think it. He'd once told Robin that his life wouldn't be worth living without him. It was still true.

Mr. Branagh put a comforting hand on his wife's back, although he looked like he might crumble at any moment himself. "They're operating now." He swallowed, visibly shaking, "on all three of them."

Chloe clutched his arm, burying her face in his shoulder, and he let her. Led her to the uncomfortable plastic chairs and sat numbly, fighting the treacherous voices in his head.

He'd never forgive himself either way.

**xXx**

"_Robin_," he whispered, when they finally let him in, voice unsteady at the sight in front of him. Robin looked so pale, so helpless. The starched white sheet was pulled to his chin, tubes and wires everywhere. The relief the blip of the heart monitor inspired was enough to make him feel he might cry.

He collapsed into the chair next to the bed and reached a hand out tentatively, there didn't seem to be anywhere he could touch Robin that wasn't swaddled in bandage or gauze or plaster cast. Finally he settled for touching fingertips to Robin's cheek for a moment, the heat reassurance that Robin hadn't given up.

"Vlad," Chloe put a hand on his shoulder, tone soft, "it's almost dawn."

He bit at his lip and watched the machine breathe for Robin.

"What if he," his voice caught, "_dies_ when I'm not here? What if I could stop it?"

Chloe shook her head. "It's not the answer Vlad."

Vlad watched for a long, silent moment, before clenching his eyes tight shut and making reluctantly for home.

**xXx**

It didn't happen that day, or the next, and by the end of the week, when Ian and Paul were both able to sit up they finally took Robin off the respirator. Vlad sat with him every spare moment he could, getting the Council to forge him official Romanian medical records that convinced the hospital to let Robin spend large chunks of the day with the curtains tight shut, basked in artificial light.

Delila moved on to her next conquest and Mr. Branagh started the lengthy legal wrangling over insurance. The twins went home and Mrs. Branagh washed and ironed Robin's entire wardrobe, scouring every inch of his vacant bedroom.

Vlad talked and talked until his throat was raw, sobbed and sobbed until it felt like he couldn't possibly have any tears left to cry. The casts came off and the jagged patch of shaved hair at his temple grew back.

And still Robin didn't wake up.

**xXx**

The nothingness stretched on and on and on, so that he almost couldn't remember it had ever been any other way. But, then, there were noises, soft murmurs that he couldn't understand but was certain he didn't want to end.

At first they were rare, fleeting. Slowly, everything seeming like it was moments and forever at the same time, they began to come more frequently. The soothing sound washing over him and making him feel safe.

Eventually the noises started to make sense, flashes of light in the enforced darkness, with words like 'love' and 'please' and 'forever'. When they came he wanted to know more, wanted to be able to respond but, too soon, they would be gone and he'd be alone in the nothingness once more.

Vlad, he realised finally, the murmurs and the meanings and the icy touch he felt even through the nothingness. Vlad.

**xXx**

"And Ingrid said she was thinking of you too," Vlad paused, pulling a speculative face, "Well, I mean, she didn't, but she would have if she stopped thinking about herself for more than three minutes. But you know what she's like, she's –"

Speech failed him, his useless breath hitching as his gaze locked with dark brown eyes. "Robin," he finally stuttered, reaching for him, fingers trembling violently.

Robin tried to speak, the wet sound of swallowing filling the silence and Vlad felt a hysterical laugh burgeoning in his throat, even as tears were slipping silently down his cheeks. He swiped at his face, smiling and sobbing all at the same time as he worked out the word Robin was trying to form.

"I'm here," he choked out, "and I'm never going anywhere."

**xXx**

"Don't give me that look," Vlad said fondly, beaming all across his face, "You know you have to do it."

"But I'm tired," Robin protested, but shifted to the edge of the bed dutifully all the same, calves shaking at the unfamiliar press of weight as he tried to stand. He gritted his teeth, limbs feeling heavy and detached from his body.

Vlad hovered anxiously, afraid to take his eyes off Robin for a moment, lest something awful happen. Robin took an awkward step, and then another, face screwing up with the effort. Finally he judged Robin had done enough and wrapped a supportive arm around him, letting him rest all his weight against him.

Sat back on the bed, Robin stared up at him, eyes wide and trusting and Vlad sat next to him, taking Robin's hand in his own.

"You're not going to give up on me, are you?" Robin said, tone slightly disbelieving. "You really meant everything you said."

Vlad smiled crookedly, "I love you. I'm not going anywhere." He reached his other hand to Robin's nape, staring deeply into the eyes he'd feared he'd never see again, "Not even if you want me to."

"So I'm stuck with you?" Robin whispered, squeezing his hand.

"Terrible, isn't it?"

Robin smiled, moving his head closer, brushing their lips together,

"I get all the luck."


	32. Chapter 33

**[ _A/N: Written for 10_cliche_fics on Livejournal. Prompt = "We're pretending, right?"_ ]**

"One week," Robin murmured, not looking at him.

"One week," Vlad repeated despondently.

Robin glared at him then, tone cold, "After what you've done to me, it's the least you can do."

Vlad looked away. Robin had a point.

**xXx**

"I've put you two in here," Robin's aunt was babbling, pushing the door open. Vlad noted the double bed and groaned inwardly. He'd known it would be a week of torture, but this was just on a whole new level of pain.

Robin sneered at him as he dumped his bag unceremoniously onto the bed, and then plastered a false smile across his face. "That's really great, Auntie Pat. I didn't know how I was going to survive a week without Vlad at my side."

They glowered at each other.

"Same here," he said, antagonising Robin further, "Because we spend all our time together."

"Except for when Vlad is too busy _entertaining _his fanclub," Robin said with false cheer, giving him a pointed look.

Auntie Pat, as oblivious to subtext as he was learning the entirety of Mrs. Branagh's side of the family were, just pinched Robin's cheek as if he were still knee high. "Aw, don't you two make a cute couple. Dinner in half hour."

Left alone they just scowled at each other and set about unpacking their things on opposite sides of the room. It was going to be a long week.

**xXx**

"So, Vlad," Cariad, Robin's cousin, started, "How do you put up with Robin stropping all the time?"

"Yeah," Paul said around his eggs and bacon, "I'd 'ave had to kill him by now. He's so annoying."

Vlad looked over at Robin – who had spent the entire night shifting further and further away like he had some sort of contagious skin disease until he actually fell out of bed – and gave his most charming smile.

"I love Robin's mercurial moods," he said sarcastically, determined that Robin was going to get as good as he gave. He was only there out of the kindness of his heart. Robin had dumped _him_; he had no obligation to play happy families for the sake of Robin's pride. Hr went on, "I think they're a sign of his maturity."

Robin narrowed his eyes. "Maturity!? Vlad knows _all _about that." He met the eye of Cariad's brother, Owain, "He still sleeps with a cuddly toy, don't you Vlad?" He gave him a smile that flashed teeth; it reminded him disconcertingly of Ingrid, "It's so _cute_."

"It's an improvement on some of the bed partners I've had," he smirked back, enjoying the way Robin gritted his teeth, seething with anger.

The rest of the table shared significant looks and concentrated on their breakfast.

**xXx**

"Would you like a drink, Vlad?" Auntie Pat offered, already filling his glass.

Robin, who might as well have been on the next continent, not the next sofa cushion, for all the company he was being, snorted, "Don't drink too much, _darling_. We all know you can't take it."

"At least I don't wake up face first in my own sick when I've been drinking," Vlad hissed, face twisting as he leaned closer.

"No, your mouth is always otherwise occupied."

Vlad grimaced, guilt warring with the desire to punch something. "If you were so concerned you wouldn't have let me drink that much in the first place. As you say, _sweetheart_, we all know I can't take it."

"Excuse me!" Robin said in mock apology, "How could I 'ave forgotten that _nothing_ is _ever_ your fault!?"

"Problems?" Mr. Branagh cut in then, making Vlad realise they were probably creating a massive scene.

"No," Robin spat, getting up abruptly, "I just want an early night." He paused to hiss at Vlad, "So much as think about following me and you'll regret it."

Vlad grimaced to the rest of the room and drained the glass. Being an evil vampire who refused to accompany ex-boyfriends on family visits was looking a more attractive proposition by the minute.

**xXx**

"Boys," Mrs. Branagh smiled – a smile that looked a little strained even to Vlad's eye - at them four days later, putting an early end to their current round of scowling darkly at each other, "Why don't you go out for a nice walk?"

Vlad peered out of the window; the sky was a dark grey, it looked cold, wet and miserable.

"The fresh air might do you some good," Auntie Pat added. There were numerous murmurs of agreement. Vlad got the impression that his and Robin's stand-off was dragging the whole household down.

Robin got to his feet, "I hear it's clearing up this afternoon," he gestured at the window and smiled nastily at Vlad, "We should definitely go." Vlad just shook his head and went and fetched his coat. So Robin wanted to see him turned to dust. Well, right now, he thought viciously, he wouldn't be averse to seeing the tables turned.

Outside in the cold winter air Robin shoved his hands in his pockets, taking extra long strides so he had to walk twice as fast to keep up with him. They were in the middle of the housing estate, the benches outside the boarded up shops deserted thanks to the heavy rain, when his temper finally snapped.

Grabbing hold of the sleeve of Robin's coat, he spun the taller boy round to face him. "_What_ is your problem!? _You_ asked me to do this. Because _you _couldn't find another boyfriend!"

"My problem," Robin pointed at himself and laughed bitterly. "I'll tell you what my problem is, Vlad." He pushed up close into Vlad's personal space, rain dripping from the edge of his hood as he jabbed a finger into Vlad's chest. "Finding my _so called_ boyfriend necking some stupid blonde slapper, that's my problem. Ringing any bells?"

Vlad shoved Robin by the shoulders, shaking his head, sending tendrils of hair flying, "How many times do I have to tell you, I wasn't _necking_ her! I was biting her."

"That's even worse!" Robin yelled at him, coat sopping wet as he flung an arm out in frustration, "You won't bite me but, some stranger you've only just met, well, that's fine."

"It wasn't like that, and you know it," Vlad ground out. "How many times can I apologise to you? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg, is that it?"

"Well, it'd be a first," Robin sneered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know," Robin said, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down. "Let's just say, there's not much I'm missing about you."

"Yeah?" Vlad spat back at him, "Same here. You know what?" He asked, anger overriding his usual reason, "I'm glad you're such a selfish, immature _freak_." Robin looked up at him, confusion breaking across his face. Vlad pressed on, "Because if you had listened to one word I said and forgiven me I'd have been stuck with you _forever_."

Robin stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, before his expression twisted with all the horrible emotions he could never have imagined Robin ever wanting to direct at him, "I wish you were human, Vlad." He paused, sneering. "That way I could tell you to drop dead."

**xXx**

It was late by the time Vlad let himself back into the house. Robin had given his parting shot and stormed off. Vlad wasn't proud of the subsequent lightening storm he'd started, slamming a fist into the bench hard enough to dent metal (and cause serious pain to the knuckles of his right hand.)

Nor was he proud of the way he'd sobbed into his hands on some park bench like a twelve year old girl. As much as Robin infuriated him, made him want to wrap his hands round his perfect pale throat and squeeze until he just _shut up_, he still loved him. Desperately.

He closed the bedroom door quietly behind him, moving with all his unnatural grace in the darkness and switching the bedside light on. The soft light diffusing over the exposed skin of Robin's shoulders, the blankets slipping around him, made his throat ache. Robin looked so beautiful.

Peeling off his wet coat and sweater, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers hovering over warm skin. He wanted to touch, to trail kisses along Robin's collarbone and leave marks of possession up the length of his throat.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand, he was so cold he would probably only wake Robin up – he couldn't imagine Robin being overjoyed to find him pawing at him. So, instead, he worked the buttons of his shirt free with numb fingers, pushing wet denim down his legs. Then he clambered into bed, shifting as close to Robin as he dared, soaking up the other boy's body heat.

He was watching Robin so intently he jumped when Robin opened his eyes, soft and unfocussed with sleep. "Vlad?" He croaked.

"Yeah?"

Robin reached out a hand, the scorching heat as it dropped to his arm enough to make him gasp. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier, I didn't mean it." Vlad noticed for the first time the redness around Robin's eyes. "I don't wish you were dead." He offered him a nervous half smile, "deader."

"I'm sorry too," he whispered back, finally giving in and reaching out to push Robin's fringe away from his forehead. "For everything."

Robin leaned into his touch, although his eyes were solemn, "Did you like her better than me? Is that why you wanted to feed from her?"

"No!" Vlad protested. He looked away, feeling ill at the memory, "I was just – I was so desperate – I didn't know where you were." It sounded lame but it was true. All his fragmentary memories were of feeling frantic and terrified, searching for Robin and coming up empty handed. The girl smiling at him, the taste of blood against his tongue and then – then - Robin pulling them apart and threatening to break his spine in six places for daring to humiliate him.

"You can feed from me, I don't mind," Robin's eyes were huge in the lamplight and Vlad swallowed thickly. The thought of tasting Robin, of Robin writhing against him in pleasure as he sunk his fangs into Robin's willing flesh causing an instant reaction.

"I could hurt you," Vlad managed to force out, deliberately not looking at the ever increasing amount of Robin's chest on display as he shifted about.

"It couldn't hurt any worse than the last few weeks have," Robin said huffily. "Sorry," he winced, "I shouldn't have said that."

Vlad shook his head, "It's alright." He shifted, supporting his weight on his hands with Robin beneath him, "I'm going to make it up to you."

Robin searched his face, and then grinned, "Promise?"

Vlad dropped a soft kiss to his lips, smiling, "_Promise_."

**xXx**

"Robin? Vlad?" Mr. Branagh stuck his head round the door warily the following morning, expecting icy tension and fearing bloodshed, "you ready to go?"

What he did find was even more of a shock. Robin, bags packed at his feet and livid love bites trailed from collarbone to chin, nodded, gaze fixed firmly on Vlad all the while. Vlad, for his part, was holding Robin's hand, staring dreamily into his eyes.

"Well, bring your stuff downstairs for nine, alright?"

Vlad nodded this time, tearing his gaze away from Robin for all of about four seconds.

"Right." Mr. Branagh said, peering closer to check the two of them hadn't been swapped for clones overnight, "right." He shut the door and shook his head. Young Love.


	33. Chapter 34

**[ _A/N: Written for slashthedrabble prompt #232 "Under the Influence"_ ]**

"Robin!" Vlad hissed in reproach, "Don't _touch_ anything!"

He shook his head as Robin reluctantly screwed the lid of the jar back on. The place even smelt dangerous, the air thick and musty. He turned round to encourage Robin along – it was not somewhere he wanted to hang about in for long – only for the other boy to fix him with a weirdly intense look, refusing to budge.

"Vlad," Robin's voice was deeper than usual, and it raised shivery goosebumps all across his skin, "I feel strange."

And_ that_ was all the warning he got. One minute he was having a perfectly civil conversation, the next, he was on his back, Robin pinning him down and attempting to extract his tonsils with nothing but his tongue. He tried to protest, but Robin misinterpreted it and just attacked him with increased vigour.

When Robin let him breathe he gasped in harsh lungfuls, heart pounding in his chest as Robin moved to suck at his neck instead, lavishing attention on it until Vlad was certain there would be dark bruises tomorrow for all to see.

He groaned then, the thought of necks and bruises and the feel of Robin rocking into his thigh proving a heady mixture. The part of him that was more a fan of instinct than reason – deeply buried thought it was - had him flipping their positions, grinning in triumph when he had Robin, flushed and panting, beneath him.

This time he got to be in control, pushing one hand into Robin's hair and stroking his thumb against his fevered forehead, kissing and kissing and_ kissing _until they had to break apart for air once more. He latched on to the pale skin of Robin's throat, the primal urge to bite and feed so strong it was almost a physical ache.

Robin arched his head back, giving him better access, and made a desperate sound somewhere between whining and groaning. Vlad sucked harder in response, hands holding Robin's hips in place as he ground against him. Robin writhed and curled possessive fingers in his hair and the fabric of his shirt, finally tensing and moaning his name as he came against him.

The flutter of his heartbeat pulsing against his tongue through the fragile skin of his neck, accompanied with the knowledge that he had just made Robin lose control, sent him over the edge. He slumped on top of Robin, fighting for both breath and composure and, when he looked up; Robin's expression was half terrified.

He shifted, angling his head so he could kiss Robin, soft and careful like he'd spent hours planning out in his head. Robin, after a moment of fear inducing stillness, kissed him back tenderly, one palm coming to rest lightly along the curve of his jaw.

Robin pocketed the jar before they left, favouring Vlad's accusatory glare with a "What?" grinning lecherously and destroying any resolve he might have had on the issue, "Never know when it might come in useful."


	34. Chapter 35

"Oh, Vlad," Mrs. Branagh said on opening the front door to him, tone apologetic, "he's not going today."

Vlad narrowed his eyes. How _convenient_ of Robin to be ill the day of their joint history presentation. To Mrs. Branagh he said, "Can I get my notes off him?" He couldn't resist adding, "We're _supposed_ to be doing a presentation."

Mrs. Branagh nodded, and Vlad made his way up the stairs, determined to give Robin a piece of his mind. He quickly changed his mind on pushing Robin's bedroom door open and getting a good look at him. His skin was a clammy grey, his breathing sounding thick and laboured in the silence.

"_Robin_," he said quietly, sitting on the side of Robin's bed and laying a hand on Robin's forehead.

"Did my Mam let you in 'ere?" Robin rasped out, grimacing at the discomfort it caused him. His face and throat were swollen up; the latter attracting his attention for long moments before he forced himself to focus on Robin's face.

"Yeah, I need those notes for history."

"'Ow are you supposed to fancy me," Robin choked out, reaching awkwardly for a file balancing precariously on his bedside table - Vlad was privately amazed that Robin had actually done the work – and handing it to him. He finished, "When you see me looking like this?"

"Don't be stupid," Vlad said fondly, bending to kiss Robin chastely, colds and flu not being something he had to worry about. He deliberately went all out with his next words, wanting to cheer Robin up, "If you had a paper bag over your head, you'd still be better looking than every other guy in Stokely."

"Yeah, well," Robin grinned for a moment then subsided into a fit of coughing. Vlad touched his cheek briefly, eyes concerned,

"Get some rest. I'll come round later."

Robin managed a "thanks, Vlad," before curling back into his blankets.

**

* * *

**

Vlad watched unseeingly as Jonno Van Helsing pinned up notices on the board opposite him, prefect badge proudly on display. He wondered if Robin would think it was cute or stupid if he brought him some flowers. Maybe sweets would go down better, he thought. Those ones in the shape of bugs, full of gooey entrails. Robin would appreciate that.

He was still thinking about it when he realised Jonno was speaking to him. He looked up at the other boy in confusion and Jonno started again, "I was just saying, you should come to our meeting at lunchtime. With Robin away and everything."

Vlad peered at the notice board, 'Christian Club', and swallowed nervously. "I, er, don't think I'd really fit in."

Jonno fixed him with a strange look, and sat down at his table. "Vlad," he said solemnly, "You're _exactly_ the sort of person we're trying to help."

"I am?"

"Yeah," Jonno nodded enthusiastically, "You might think that Jesus has turned his back on you but," Jonno shook his head, "he hasn't."

Vlad looked away, "Jesus doesn't know the half of it." He knew where vampires went; his Dad enjoyed crowing about it in glee too much for him not to.

"He knows what you are, and he forgives you," Jonno said simply. Vlad frowned, fear rising,

"H-how do you know?" He was supposed to be the Grand High Vampire. His hypnosis should only wear off when _he_ said so.

Jonno scoffed slightly at this, "You don't exactly try very hard to hide it." Vlad looked down at his uniform, wondering what exactly about his appearance was giving his secrets away.

"Are you going to try and kill me now or something?" Vlad asked in hushed tones, glancing warily around the room. Jonno looked horrified,

"You've got it all wrong, Vlad. _Totally_ wrong. We want to help you, not punish you." He stood up and shoved a flyer into his hands, "Come. I really think we can make a difference."

Vlad stared at it in bemusement until the bell rang for the end of break. Robin doing his homework. Jonno Van Helsing accepting his vampirism. Today was just getting weirder by the second.

**

* * *

**

"Vlad, you came!" Jonno beamed at him and Vlad sat down in the proffered seat self-consciously. He was starting to feel like an idiot for turning up. What if his Dad found out he'd been there!?

"Everyone," Jonno addressed the other members, and Vlad was surprised at how many faces he recognised, "this is Vlad." There were murmurs and smiles of welcome and Vlad started to relax. The room was full of other people who did their homework and wore their uniform according to the school rules, he felt like they had something in common.

After the practicalities there was a lot of scuffling in bags as bibles were produced. Vlad had to share with Jonno. They talked about the importance of peace and tolerance, without Robin speculating in his ear about how much Holy Water you would need to dissolve a vampire like in his real RE lessons, and, by the end, Vlad felt like maybe Jonno was right. Maybe there was a place for him here.

**

* * *

**

"So," Robin asked, voice scratchy and strained, "'Ow did you cope without my brilliance to entertain you?" He punctuated the question by biting the head off a jelly spider and grinning as its gooey guts welled around the teeth marks.

Vlad smiled back at him, congratulating himself on making the right choice, and said, "I went to Christian Club with Jonno."

"You did what!?" Robin protested so severely he started coughing, clutching at his throat, and grimacing in pain. Vlad helped him sip some water,

"It was okay, actually. Jonno's not so bad. I think he remembers about me," at Robin's wide-eyed shock he elaborated, "But he says that Jesus loves me anyway." Since he had worn the Crown the Van Helsings had been putting their former enthusiasm for reducing his entire family to ashes, into the church. He much preferred it.

"_I bet he did_," Robin said bitterly, sinking back against his pillows, "Didn't waste any time, did he?"

"Robin," Vlad started slowly, smiling in disbelief, "Are you jealous?"

"No." Robin bit out, not meeting his gaze. Vlad waited a moment. "Maybe, a little bit." Robin was pouting, looking more pitiful than ever, wrapped up in his extra blankets and his hair sticking up at the back.

"You've got _nothing_ to worry about," Vlad reassured, wishing Robin was well enough to be kissed properly, but settling for a soft kiss to his cheek, "trust me."

"_I do_," Robin whined, "I just don't trust Van Helsing."

**

* * *

**

Robin was still too ill to go to school the next day, and the next, _and_ the next. Mrs. Branagh told him he'd most likely be off all week, if not longer. And, so, Vlad found himself sat at lunch on his own, wishing Robin was there to keep him company.

He was still feeling sorry for himself when Jonno Van Helsing came to sit next to him. "I've got something for you," Jonno said, smiling, handing him a pocket sized copy of the New Testament. Jonno had made a point of speaking to him every day. Robin's resultant sulking was adorable.

"Aw, thanks." Vlad smiled back, feeling awkward, imagining what Ingrid would do to him if she found out he had such a thing in his possession. Not wanting to bring his family up – just in case Jesus' love didn't stretch to all three of them – he said instead, "Robin won't be happy. He thinks you're all trying to brainwash me."

Jonno's face fell, expression uncomfortable. "Vlad, we can only help you if you want to be helped." He bit at his lip, seemingly debating what he could say. After a moment Jonno seemed to make the decision to say what was on his mind anyway, "Perhaps it would be easier for you to try to avoid temptation for a while."

At Vlad's look of confusion, Jonno went on, "I just mean, maybe, Robin is a bad influence."

Vlad scowled, although grudgingly accepted in his mind that it was probably true. Nothing could get him studying vampire lore, or wearing a cape faster than the thought of the awed look it would inspire on Robin's face. Aloud he said, "I can't just avoid Robin, he's my best friend."

"Look," Jonno placated, "Why don't you come to our prayer meeting tonight? They'll be able to explain better than I can."

Vlad hesitated, and then thought of the welcoming acceptance he had felt earlier that week and nodded. What could it hurt?

**

* * *

**

"Well, that's just charming," Robin said, voice muffled as he rolled over and spoke to the wall, "I'll just lie here – _dying_ – and you can go an' 'ave fun with _Jonno Van Helstinks_. I don't care."

"_Robin_," Vlad soothed, putting a hand on Robin's too-warm shoulder, "Don't be like this." Secretly he was quite enjoying the overt display of possessive jealousy. Normally Robin would try to act as if it were impossible for him to want anyone but Robin; it was pulling at his heartstrings to see that Robin wasn't really that confident.

"How else am I supposed to be?" Robin croaked back sullenly, "Just admit it. You like Jonno better then me."

Vlad glanced at his watch; he still had twenty minutes before he needed to leave to meet Jonno. He looked back at Robin and kicked off his shoes, clambering into bed next to him and pulling Robin to his chest. "For someone who claims to be a genius, you really are an idiot at times."

Robin said nothing, but laid his head against Vlad's chest, not resisting when Vlad linked their fingers together.

"Why would I want Jonno – or anyone – when I've got you?" Vlad said quietly, stroking soothing patterns across Robin's back with his free hand. "I love _you_." Robin squeezed his hand tighter and Vlad smiled, it was as close to saying it back as Robin had ever got.

**

* * *

**

"Ready?" Jonno asked when he reached their arranged meeting point. Vlad nodded, thinking of the way he'd left Robin sleeping peacefully, and let Jonno lead the way. They didn't go to the old church in the middle of town, for which Vlad was grateful, it made his skin prickle and his hair stand on end every time he went past it. Instead they carried on walking until they reached a modern looking building which ran the youth club Robin outright refused to attend on Friday evenings.

Mr. Van Helsing greeted him warmly once they were inside – as if he hadn't given him and Robin over ten detentions already that term for talking in class – and introduced him to so many people he was sure he'd never remember any of their names.

When they sat down they sang a song, reinforcing his impression that Robin would never step foot in the place, and Jonno whispered that the upcoming talk would explain everything he'd been trying to tell him.

Vlad listened intently as the speaker got up and introduced himself, telling the congregation that he'd "like to give an especially warm welcome to those of you who are here for the first time." Jonno gave him an encouraging smile and Vlad squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly nervous. What if _everyone_ knew what he was? Why hadn't the thought occurred to him before?

Within minutes he was gaping, words like 'sin', 'temptation' and 'unnatural' ringing in his head. And then he was resisting the urge to give in to relieved laughter, biting at his lip and pressing a hand across his chin, fingers covering his lips in an attempt to look serious. Jonno was nodding in agreement next to him, and he thought about how much Robin was going to laugh when he found out. He was _such_ an idiot.

**

* * *

**

It was gone ten when he was back on the Branagh's doorstep. Luckily Mrs. Branagh didn't seem to think this at all unusual and let him in with a smile, telling him Robin really appreciated him coming round to cheer him up. He couldn't help but pick up on the veiled 'we're all so happy you're coming round to cheer Robin up, he's driving us insane' and grinned back.

Up in Robin's bedroom he was met with a sulky glare, Robin's arms folded across his chest, "'Ave a good time, did you? Come to gloat about it, 'ave you?"

"It was brilliant," Vlad teased, pulling his coat off and dumping it into Robin's chair, "Best night ever."

Robin scowled harder and reached for a bottle of cough syrup, in a show of ignoring him. Vlad toed off his shoes then took the bottle from him and sat down on Robin's bed, unscrewing the cap and picking up a spoon.

"I'm not a baby, Vlad," Robin protested but let Vlad spoon feed him the medicine all the same.

"You're acting like one," Vlad said smiling, no bite to the words. "No, I didn't have a good time. No, I've not come to gloat about it." Robin looked at him curiously and he went on, "Jonno doesn't remember. I think he'd be hard pushed to remember what a vampire is." He grinned widely at Robin, shifting under the blankets with him, "He's been trying to save my non-existent soul."

Frowning, Robin asked, "From what?"

Vlad let his fingers touch Robin's throat for a moment, then slid his palm along his jaw instead, meeting his dark gaze,

"You."

Robin's eyes went wide and Vlad couldn't resist pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I told you he didn't have any designs on me."

"That," Robin said, sounding more confident, pushing scorching hot fingers into the hair at the nape of Vlad's neck, "is because he's an idiot."

"I can't wait 'til you're better," Vlad murmured, hands itching to explore Robin's heated skin.

Robin squirmed under the intense regard, "Me neither."

Vlad forced himself to just lie down and keep his hands, if not to himself, then at least on relatively acceptable parts of Robin's body.

"Vlad," Robin started quietly, wrapping one arm around him, "I do trust you."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of Robin's head, and whispered happily, "I love you."

Robin shifted his head to look up at him, expression soft and scared and serious all at the same time, "I love you too."

Vlad grinned and pulled Robin closer still. It looked like Jonno was going to be fighting a losing battle.


	35. Chapter 36

**[ _A/N: Written for this week's slashtheimage drabble challenge on livejournal._ ]**

"Pretty, isn't it?" Vlad said, looking at the golden leaves strewn everywhere.

"No," Jonno responded, sneering as he looked him up and down. "It's all rotten and dead. Like you."

"If that's how you feel," Vlad narrowed his eyes, wondering why he'd ever agreed to this meeting in the first place, and turned to leave.

"Count – _Vlad_," Jonno ground out in frustration, one hand clamping around his arm, "Wait."

He barely had time to glare before Jonno's mouth was on his and Vlad knew why he'd agreed, kept on agreeing. He might be dead, but Jonno made him feel _alive_.


	36. Chapter 37

**[ _A/N: Inspired by a line from 'Naive' by AutomaticApple about Vlad not understanding what the word 'gay' means. XD_ ]**

"Count, you Gaylord," Richard Price hissed, shoving him by the shoulders, "Get out of the bloody way."

Vlad pulled a face but stepped to the side dutifully. Price pushed past him, Watson and Davis following. Robin was watching them go with a scowl, muttering darkly under his breath.

For his part he still didn't get what everyone had against being happy. Back in Transylvania he had understood; vampires were supposed to be evil. There was – _supposedly_ – no place for being gay and cheerful. But here, in Britain, it didn't make any sense.

Aloud he said to Robin, "Don't get so worked up about it. I don't mind."

"You _should_ mind!" Robin protested. "Can't you hear what he's saying!?"

"Robin," Vlad said patronisingly, "I'm a vampire. Enhanced hearing, it kind of comes with the territory."

"Yeah, well, maybe you just don't understand it."

Vlad narrowed his eyes. "Of course I understand," he snapped in response. Robin was always making fun of his slip-ups with the language; he could see that Robin thought he'd caught him out again. Well, he'd show him.

"I don't care how much Price says it," Vlad told Robin huffily, "because it's true. I _am_ gay. _And_," he nodded decisively, "I'm proud of it."

Robin just stood gaping at him for long moments until Vlad was fighting the urge to retract the statement just to get over the awkwardness. "You're gay?" Robin stuttered out eventually, eyes wide with disbelief.

"_Yes_," Vlad frowned. It wasn't like it was a surprise that he liked being happy. Robin, he thought, probably just abhorred the thought of someone being proud of it.

"Right," Robin swallowed, still staring at him. "That's just – you're – right. Right."

Vlad squirmed uncomfortably under the renewed silent scrutiny, "I thought we were going to lunch?"

The taller boy seemed to snap himself out of it then, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "You don't half pick your timing, Vlad." His tone wasn't accusing though and Vlad relaxed, smiling,

"You love it."

Robin said nothing, just shaking his head grimly. Vlad couldn't help but grin; for the first time in his life he'd succeeded in rendering Robin speechless!

**

* * *

**

Robin was still acting weirdly around him come last lesson, glancing across at him before looking steadfastly away. After some thought Vlad decided it must be because he had been far more assertive than usual. Just because he normally gave in to what Robin thought, or what Robin wanted to do, didn't mean he was incapable of having his own opinions.

He was feeling quite proud of himself as he tied his football boots, watching Robin try to get into his rugby top without taking off his shirt in amusement.

"Oi, Count," Price called from the other side of the changing rooms, "Stop eyeing Branagh up!"

Vlad blushed and stood up straight. "I wasn't eyeing him up."

Price sniggered, high-fiving Davis as he took in the flush across his cheeks. "Whatever you say, Count. Whatever you say."

His new found assertiveness not stretching far enough to want to start a fight under Old Jenkins' nose he turned back to Robin, shrugging apologetically. Robin flustered under his gaze, nearly careering into a wall in his haste to get his rugby shorts pulled up. Vlad wondered if it was guilt at having procrastinated so long before getting changed. Knowing Robin it was probably just part of his latest scheme to try and get out of games.

Robin dropped down heavily onto the bench, stamping his foot into one football boot. Not looking up he asked suddenly, "Are you going to tell everyone?"

"Tell everyone what?" Vlad asked, hanging his blazer on the peg carefully. He didn't want it to get full of creases.

"You know," Robin looked around warily and hissed, "that you're gay."

Vlad frowned; he hadn't known you were supposed to make a public statement about it. Aloud he asked, "Do you think I should?"

Robin's gaze slid over to Price and he let out a strained snort of laughter, "No."

"I'm not afraid of Price," Vlad protested, affronted at Robin's total and utter lack of faith in him. It didn't bode well for his future as head vampire.

Dark eyes met his then, imploring, "Don't do it, Vlad."

"Don't do what?" Price's voice sounded, the clatter of football studs against the tiled floor all around them as their class filed out. "Be a gayboy? Aw, sorry, Count, bit late, isn't it?"

Watson and Davis grinned behind him, the other boys within hearing distance sniggering. Vlad glanced at Robin who was pretending to ignore the entire scene, doing up his other boot. He took a deep breath. "So what if I am?"

"What!?" Price grinned widely, unable to believe his good fortune, "Count, are you admitting it?"

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "Yeah, I am." Next to him Robin's expression was pained, eyes clenched shut.

"_No way_," Price was laughing, "I knew it!" Before he could get past incredulous laughter Jenkins was sticking his head round the door and yelling at them to hurry up. Price and his cronies left, still laughing loudly and Vlad gave Robin a miserable look. He didn't want to be a laughing stock. Robin was having none of it, striding for the door without a shred of sympathy,

"I told you so."

**

* * *

**

By the end of the week the entire school seemed to know. The girls were pointing at him in the corridors and giggling behind his back; the boys, when they weren't doing their best to avoid him, were sniggering and laughing to his face. Vlad couldn't help but think the entire reaction was over the top.

Whenever he tried to bring it up with Robin, wanting an explanation, the other boy would grimace or snap at him or outright ignore him until he was forced to let the subject drop. He was gladder than usual it was Friday evening as he sat at the Branagh's dining table, supposedly working on his history coursework. Robin was busy shading a picture of a vampire tearing some pretty girl's jugular out.

"Look at this," Mrs. Branagh tutted, the iron hissing as she set it down and held up a threadbare T-shirt, "I don't know what you do to them."

"Wear them?" Robin suggested defensively.

"You can't go round in these," Mrs. Branagh went on, eyeing up another T-shirt with distaste, "What will people think?"

"No-one's going to get close enough to 'im to see," Paul grinned from the other side of the room, pushing the fridge door shut and peeling the lid of a yoghurt. Ian nodded next to him, biting into an apple. Robin sneered at both of them.

"I'll tell you what," Mrs. Branagh smiled at him, bundling the offending items of clothing up and putting them on the sideboard, "tomorrow we'll go into town and you can get some new ones."

"I ain't going shopping with you," Robin said in horror, looking up from his artwork, "I'm not five."

"Why don't you go with Vlad then?"

Vlad grinned at him; Robin never wanted to go anywhere but the castle on the weekends. It would be fun.

"Mam, shopping is for _girls_," Robin whined. "Vlad won't want to go."

"I don't mind," Vlad reassured. Robin looked less than happy about it.

"See," Mrs. Branagh said, picking the iron back up. "It's always good to have a second opinion when buying clothes. And Vlad always looks very smart," she gave Vlad an encouraging smile. If it weren't for Robin's look of disgust he'd have felt quite pleased with himself.

"I _don't_ want to look like Vlad!"

"Robin," Mrs. Branagh gave him a warning look, "Remember what we talked about."

Vlad could tell Robin was seething but he didn't say anything else, even when Ian called, "You'll come back looking _fabulous_" on his way to go and watch television. Vlad rested his elbows on the table, chin in one hand as he watched Robin draw. The twins were right; he could totally make Robin look good.

**

* * *

**

"Do we 'ave to go in 'ere?" Robin asked, looking longingly in the direction of Stokely's only alternative wear shop – the only place in town Ingrid would consent to part with any money in. Elsewhere she operated on an 'I like it, so I'll take it' policy, in spite of Vlad's best efforts to point out how immoral it was.

"Yes," Vlad said firmly, pushing the door open and waiting for Robin to step over the threshold. Robin hesitated, face twisted as if the prospect of entering was causing him physical pain before – finally – putting foot inside.

"This is the worst day of my life," Robin was mumbling under his breath, trying to hide his face behind one hand as a group of girls from school, including Delila, pointed in their direction and giggled behind cupped hands. Vlad just took hold of Robin's arm and dragged Robin up the stairs, grinning happily at the sight of all the bright colours.

He loved the shops in Britain, sleek and shiny and void of wizened old vampires who swept in on you the second you entered and fixed you with hypnosis glares to stop you fidgeting as they took your measurements. Robin, not having experienced the latter, couldn't appreciate their absence and was instead looking about him in something approaching abject terror. Vlad could see the back of his neck was damp with nervous sweat.

Mrs. Branagh had expressly told him to try and get Robin to try something on that wasn't black. Or at least wasn't emblazoned with a skull. Taking the mission seriously he ushered a reluctant Robin round the racks of clothing, ignoring his increasingly horrified complaining, starting with '_but it's yellow'_, getting shriller with '_that's pink'_ and culminating in an appalled, '_No way. Cardigans are for girls._'

He personally thought that Robin had no idea how lucky he was. As Ingrid never failed to point out he was far too short to be able to pull off anything in the shop window. Robin, on the other hand, would only have to do something with his hair and he could look like one of the guys in all Ingrid's glossy magazines. It wasn't at all fair.

"I'm not trying it on," Robin was digging his heels in, and it was only the sight of a particularly _chillily_ coifed shop assistant making his way towards them that persuaded Robin to move and let himself be led into the changing rooms.

"_Vlad_," Robin glared at him as if he were insane once they were in the cubicle, "what are you doing!? Get out!"

"I don't mind," Vlad shrugged, "I've seen you get changed loads of times."

Robin looked at him weirdly then, and Vlad was reminded of the awkward way he'd been squirming into his gym kit a few days ago. He'd never known Robin be shy about his appearance before. Clumsily trying to be comforting he said,

"You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Just wait outside!" Robin was shoving him out through the curtain before he could protest. Embarrassed as everyone else milling about turned to look at him, he squirmed on the spot and fidgeted as he waited. The stress was definitely getting to Robin.

**

* * *

**

"Your Mum will be pleased," Vlad said around a mouthful of food, eyeing up the carrier bag.

Robin grunted in response, taking another bite of his cheeseburger. "At least she's paying for it," he added after a moment.

Vlad grinned and concentrated on his dinner. He'd known Robin couldn't stay in a bad mood with him all day.

"What's it like?" Robin asked suddenly, abruptly.

"Alright, I think I put too much salt on."

"Not your _food_," Robin gave him an incredulous look, "the other thing." Vlad stared back at him in confusion. Robin was blushing again, looking around them and checking nobody was listening, "_Being gay?"_

Vlad frowned, even Robin must have been happy at some point. Probably in the middle of dissecting a frog or watching some disgustingly gruesome horror film, but happy all the same. Aloud he said, "Like being normal," he shrugged, "but gayer."

Robin gave him his disapproving look and he grinned back, "You should try it some time." Robin blanched and Vlad grinned harder, "I could show you how."

Before he had chance to respond there was a familiar voice behind them, "What's going on 'ere then? Off to the pictures next, is it boys?"

"Holding 'ands in the dark," Watson mocked, "Aw."

Vlad scowled up at the three of them, was it not enough that he had to put up with them all day at school?

"You wanna watch out anyway, Branagh," Price said, oblivious to or just uncaring of the death glare Vlad was giving him. "You've got competition."

"Yeah," Davis sniggered, "we all saw you giving the Tanybryn boys the come on. It's no wonder you ballsed up that conversion, you were too busy worrying what you looked like."

Vlad folded his arms across his chest huffily. There'd been nothing wrong with his performance out on the rugby field! If anyone had lost them the match it had been Price and his pathetic rivalry with the Tanybyrn team captain, Johnson.

Price put on a staccato voice, his usual way of imitating him, "Oh, do me Johnson." Watson and Davis started laughing but abruptly fell silent. Vlad twisted round in his seat to see Johnson and his own friends.

"In your dreams, Pricey boy!" There was a lot of sniggering. Johnson shoved Price's shoulder as he went past, pausing to nod in his direction, "Count."

He grinned toothily as Price pushed away from them, storming outside, his entire gang trailing after him. Disappointed to see Robin had sunk back into bad mood territory, and being relatively certain why, he said, "They're just idiots. Why would anyone think there was something going on between us?"

"Yeah," Robin said sarcastically, cramming a handful of fries into his mouth with unwarranted viciousness, "_Why?"_

Vlad gave him a sharp look. If he was going to be like that, then he just wasn't going to bother trying to cheer him up.

**

* * *

**

Vlad was flicking through Ingrid's cast off copies of 'Dead Cool' miserably. Robin hadn't wanted to come round his for the evening, hadn't even suggested he should go to his house. Now it was Sunday afternoon and still no sign of him. He was always so bored without Robin around.

He was deliberating whether or not to just sneak out and go and knock for Robin himself when there was a rap at his bedroom door. He couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face at the sight of Robin, especially not as he was actually wearing the stuff he'd picked out for him the day before. It looked good, even if he said so himself.

Robin looked nervous and sat down on the edge of his bed almost tentatively. "What are you reading?" He asked finally, in an obvious attempt to fill the silence.

"Dead Cool," Vlad answered, turning the magazine round so Robin could see. It was open on a fashion page and Vlad went on, "Your hair would look cool like that, I bet." The guy in the picture had Robin's colouring, and a similar shaped face. He wondered if perhaps he shouldn't just buy his own magazines and learn something that might actually be useful to him.

"Yeah?" Robin asked, not meeting his gaze.

"Yeah," he paused for a moment then, deciding Robin probably wouldn't try and kill him, reached out and dishevelled Robin's hair carefully, just a little. "See?"

Robin stood up to have a look at himself in the mirror. "Is this the sort of thing you like?"

Vlad nodded, "Yeah." He eyed Robin's new shirt up covetously and wondered if his Dad would let him buy one like it instead of a new cape. He had _loads_ of capes.

"I don't know how you can be so sure," Robin said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. "How do you know?"

Vlad frowned, "I just do. If you like something," he shrugged, "then you like it."

Robin bit at his lip for a moment, apparently processing this information. "Does your Dad know about, _you know_?"

"I suppose so," Vlad answered, cocking his head to one side in consideration, uncertain where Robin was going with the twenty questions, "It's not like he can't notice, is it?"

"What about Ingrid?" Robin pressed further, "And your mad Gran?"

"Granny Westenra?" He pulled a face. "She still thinks I'd be of more use as a pile of dust. But," he looked across his room, at the cape hanging next to his school blazer and the bright yellow jumper Mrs. Branagh had knitted him the previous Christmas, lamenting that the range of colours at the haberdashery was completely wasted on Robin. Smiling, he finished, "I'm not going to change. They'll just have to get used to it."

Robin was looking at him with something akin to awe on his face and Vlad beamed. That was more like it. Vlad Dracula: assertive leader. Not, as Ingrid had already mocked up a campaign poster of, Vlad Dracula: wimpire.

"It's not that – I just." Robin swallowed and started again, "I'm sorry for being such a dick about it." The sincerity in his tone made Vlad feel unjustifiably proud of himself. "It just took a while for me to get my head around it."

"It's alright," he said graciously. Dropping his magazine to the floor he gestured to his bedroom door, feeling like he wanted to do something to mark how much he appreciated this turn of events, "Do you want to go and see Dad's latest coffin? It came yesterday."

Robin grinned, "_Awesome."_

Vlad smiled indulgently and let Robin lead the way down to the crypt.

**

* * *

**

"Ugh," Robin grimaced, pulling apart the two halves of his sandwich. "Salad again. Mam's gone mad." Pressing the bread back together he leaned over to the edge of the table and dumped it in the bin, before turning back to him. "Chippy?"

Vlad looked down at his own mouldy sandwiches and clipped the lid back on his sandwich box, nodding.

By the time they got there Vlad was starving, Robin keeping up a running commentary on the particular merits of each chip shop in the area. They queued obediently, and Vlad was proud that he managed not to scowl too much at the sight of Price and his gang joining the end of it.

Still they managed to get served and outside without Price saying a word to them, too busy chatting up some girls from the year below to spare the time.

"My Mam must think I'm a rabbit or something," Robin complained around a mouthful of chips, "I'm going to waste away if she don't start giving me proper food."

Vlad highly doubted that, but kept the observation to himself. "At least it's fresh rabbit food, I dunno where Renfield gets it from, but everything in the larder is _disgusting_." As he said it his hand caught against the side of the tray, smearing ketchup across it. He was instinctively licking it back off when he felt his skin prickle, as if someone were watching intently.

He looked up to see Robin staring at him, eyes dark and unreadable. Vlad shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, the moment seeming oddly charged and intense, stretching on and on. And, then, it was being broken by a chip being pelted at the side of his head,

"Knock it off, Count! Some of us are trying to keep our dinner down over 'ere!"

"Yeah, shove off and get a room!" Davis added, preening when the girl next to him giggled.

"Come on, Vlad," Robin said quietly, but Vlad was already speaking.

"We're not doing anything!" he protested hotly.

Price smirked, "You're breathing, aren't you?"

He scowled, he hated that one when it came from Ingrid; it was no better coming from Price.

"Look," Watson said, tone placating as if he were trying to highlight a perfectly rational point, "Nobody wants to see what you two benders get up to in your spare time."

Vlad frowned in confusion, "Two what?"

"Aw, come on, Count, you're supposed to be the expert," Price sniggered. "Benders, poofs, gayboys, queers. _Freaks_."

Vlad felt suddenly ill, his mind stumbling over the list of words and making the connection in double quick time. He didn't have chance to think about anything else, to think about what he was going to do about the situation he'd put himself in, because Robin was shoving a tray of chips into his free hand and pushing towards Price as if the other boy wouldn't just pulverise him.

"He's not a freak!"

Price shook his head, "Yes, he is. He's perving all over you for a start; that's a dead giveaway."

Without any further warning Robin lunged at Price, the two of them grappling in an attempt to get the other in a headlock. Somebody yelled 'Fight' and within seconds a crowd was forming. Shocked gaping gave way to action, and Vlad dropped their food in favour of trying to separate the two boys before Robin got seriously injured.

Price flung a fist and hit him solidly in the jaw, pain flaring and radiating outwards. Robin started struggling, this time to get Price off him as Vlad clutched at his jaw, blinking away the instinctive tears in his eyes. Price shoved Robin, hard, so that he knocked into Vlad, almost causing him to lose his balance and send both of them sprawling to the floor. He steadied himself at the last moment, clinging to Robin with both hands, glad to see that Robin didn't seem to have been on the receiving end of Price's fist.

In the time this had taken the crowd had grown still bigger, the presence of bottle green jumpers was enough to make Vlad clench his fingers harder into Robin's shoulders. He didn't want things to escalate.

"You wanna pick on someone your own size, Price," Johnson called, pushing his way to the front of the crowd and giving Vlad a pointed look. Vlad was, on the one hand, relieved that the problem was with Price and not him. On the other, he wasn't _that _short.

"Says who?" Price sneered back, temper raging and ready to lash out again. "_You?"_

"That's right." They were going for it then, Price landing a punch to Johnson's gut before Johnson backed him up against the wall, one hand round his throat. Price kicked out at him and, in retaliation, Johnson delivered a fist to Price's face, Vlad wincing at the force. He clutched Robin tighter still, and spotting two uniformed police officers making their way across the courtyard, pulled him away to grab their schoolbags and go. The last thing either of them needed was _another _detention.

**

* * *

**

"Is your face alright?" Robin asked once they were a safe distance away, pausing to inspect it with careful fingers.

Vlad felt awkward, Robin's fingers sliding along the length of his jawbone – especially in light of recent discoveries – and shrugged. "Yeah, it's okay." He looked up into Robin's familiar chestnut eyes, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved when it didn't result in the weird intensity of earlier, "What were you thinking though? He could have killed you!"

"Well, that's charming!" Robin scowled, withdrawing his fingers abruptly, "I try and be a good friend, stand up for you, and what do I get!?"

"I am grateful," Vlad assured hurriedly, "But I have to tell you something - "

"That you fancy me, I know," Robin nodded. Vlad gaped at him. _Where_ had that come from? "It's alright. I mean, you can't help it, can you?"

"Robin," Vlad started, panic rising.

"Seriously," Robin's fingers were back on his jaw, prodding carefully at the sensitive skin, "_It's alright_. Don't worry about it." Vlad's protests died unspoken as Robin leaned in closer – and there was that weird tension – smiling crookedly. "Nobody's ever fancied me before, not properly."

Vlad bit at his lip, knowing he needed to set the record straight, but unable to get his voice to co-operate. Robin's thumb stroked against his cheek and it made his skin tingle, a strange restlessness settling over him. He wanted Robin closer; his gaze fell to Robin's lips and he swallowed thickly.

"I dunno if I can be that brave," Robin said, breath hot against his face, "just tell everyone like you did." Vlad squirmed; he hadn't been brave at all. Stupid, on the other hand… "I don't think I am anyway," Robin went on, fingers moving, pushing into his hair softly, "It's like you said yesterday." Vlad looked back at him guilelessly, he couldn't think how his Dad's new casket was connected to_ this_. Robin elaborated for him,

"If you like something, then you like it." He shrugged nervously, eyes never leaving Vlad's face, "And that's all there is to it." Robin brought his other hand up to caress his other cheek, "I – I think I like you Vlad."

Robin kissed him then, pressing their lips together softly. Vlad worried for a moment, afraid what people would think if they found out. Then realised with a start that, as far as everyone else was concerned, this was what he wanted. Robin moved his lips against his own gently, Vlad's heart skipping a beat at the first slick swipe of tongue.

He pulled away, expression anxious, although the fingers stayed anchored in his hair. Vlad did nothing but stare back for a long moment, thinking that, this time last week, he'd have been _freaking out_ that he'd just kissed Robin, wanted to kiss Robin again. But maybe, he thought, remembering the way Robin had stood up for him, last week didn't really matter.

Smiling he curled one hand around the back of Robin's neck, pressure light but insistent until Robin's lips were back on his, Robin wrapping one arm around his back to pull him closer, not caring that someone might come along at any moment and catch them.

Times changed and he wanted to move with them.


	37. Chapter 38

**[ _A/N: Written for femslash100 challenge #40 - "future"_ ]**

"I bet you've never even kissed anyone."

Chloe scowled, "_Yes_, I have."

"Who?" Olga smirked, raising an eyebrow in triumph when no answer was forthcoming. "Even _Vlad_," she grimaced in distaste at the thought of her cousin, "has managed to get that far."

"Well," Chloe said haughtily, making a show of turning a page of her textbook, "Some of us have more important things to worry about."

"Hmm," Olga glanced around the room in disdain, lingering on the poster of Darwinian evolution taking pride of place on Chloe's wall. "I can see that."

"And I suppose_ you're_ an expert at it?" Chloe glared up at her, wondering why she wouldn't just go away and leave her alone. "Been taking tips from Ingrid?"

Olga grinned at that, sitting down next to her, "I think _you're_ the one who needs to do that survey."

"That's not what I meant," Chloe ground out, jaw set in anger.

"Still," Olga drawled, leaning back on her elbows, "if that's the way it is, we can fix you up right now." She pouted mockingly.

Before Chloe had chance to respond, Vlad was sticking his head round the door, "I'm going back up to the castle now."

"Whatever," Olga sneered at him and waited until they heard the front door shutting before getting up to leave. She paused, one hand on the door, smirking wider still, "Don't worry, you'll get your chance." She smiled sweetly, knowing exactly how irritating Chloe found it,

"I'll be back at Christmas."


	38. Chapter 39

Robin hates it when Vlad brings girls back. Hates having to listen to their breathy moans and high pitched keening through the thin partition wall. Hates the way he can never stop himself imagining the expression on Vlad's face as they ride him, the headboard banging rhythmically in time with the movement of his own hand. In the mornings, as whats-her-name slathers concealer across the frail skin of her neck, Vlad always meets his gaze apologetically and he turns away. It is better all round if he just pretends it never happened.

**xXx**

He hates it more when Vlad brings guys back. Hates having to listen to their guttural groans and the slap of skin on skin through the too thin partition wall. Hates the way he can never stop the marrow deep jealousy that courses through him, every sound twisting the knife deeper even as it drives him closer to the edge. In the mornings they are always gone, colour in Vlad's cheeks testament to their parting gift. It would be better all round if he could just pretend it never happened.

**xXx**

He hates it most when Vlad comes to him, eyes dark and wanting in the dim light of his bedroom. Hates having Vlad use the same mouth on him he's had on countless other people. Hates the way he's never strong enough to turn Vlad away, to tell him that every time they do this his heart breaks a little more. In the mornings Vlad is always long gone, the skin of his neck still intact, proof he'll never be good enough. As much as he tries he can't just pretend it never happened. Can never convince himself he doesn't want it to happen again.

He'll take whatever Vlad is willing to give.

* * *

Vlad hates himself when he brings girls back. Hates himself for revelling in their moans of appreciation when he knows Robin can hear every sound they make. Hates himself for closing his eyes and imagining big dark eyes in place of blue or green, sharp angles in place of curves; for wanting someone they can never be and using them anyway. In the mornings his gaze lingers on the marks he's left on their delicate necks, meets Robin's disapproving with eyes full of all the words he can never say. Robin always turns away, message clear: he doesn't want to know.

**xXx**

He hates himself more when he brings guys back. Hates himself for doing with them what he can never do with Robin; driving them both into a frenzy as he worries at the skin of their throat. Hates himself for pretending that they're someone else, someone who can never love him back. In the mornings he always makes sure they're long gone, too afraid Robin will realise what the never ending stream of pale skin and dark hair means. Robin just looks through him, message clear: he doesn't care.

**xXx**

He hates himself most when he goes to Robin, desperate and lovesick in the light of Robin's obvious indifference. Hates the way Robin turns his head away, refuses his kiss, proof he isn't good enough. Hates the way he's never strong enough to stay away, to tell Robin that every time they do this his useless heart breaks a little more. In the mornings he always hesitates, fingers hovering over the unblemished skin of Robin's perfect neck, his attempt to tell Robin how much more he means to him. As much as he tries he can never force himself to face Robin's accusing gaze, to have Robin make the message clear: he doesn't feel the same way.

So, whatever Robin is willing to give, no matter how much it hurts, he'll take gladly.


	39. Chapter 40

**_A/N: Written for a challenge on Livejournal ~ Ingrid/Chloe: better to have __loved and lost then never to have loved at all, post Will death & established Robin/Vlad. _**

* * *

When Chloe was young she thought she wanted somebody soft and sensitive, kind and caring. Her diary had been full of Vlad's name, ringed in perfectly symmetrical lovehearts.

It had felt like her heart was breaking when she finally saw what had always been in front of her face. Saw the way Vlad's gaze followed every move her brother made, the way Vlad skulked in the darkness to press his lips softly – reverently – to Robin's.

Ingrid had been watching too, a malevolent presence in the shadows. Cold and cruel, sly and sinister. Icy breath skittering across the back of her neck had been all it took, the forceful press of cold fingers enough to almost wipe the sight from her mind. _Almost._

For a long time that had been was all it was, the swipe of a cool tongue sending fire through her veins. Hissed declarations of hatred doing nothing but making her want it more. It was a way to forget. She knows that for Ingrid it still is. Always will be.

Now that she's older Chloe understand that soft and sensitive are overrated. Sometimes, in spite of it all, it still hurts to watch Vlad, although not for the reasons she had once expected. She doesn't want _his_ adoring gaze and whispered promises, doesn't need the constant reassurances in the way Robin does.

Instead, she sees the familial resemblance in the sweep of Vlad's cheekbone and wishes that, _just once_, she could be the centre of Ingrid's world.


	40. Chapter 41

_**A/N: Series of 10 drabbles written for the nospeakingrule comm over on Livejournal.**_

* * *

**#01. Confused**

"This," the Count had said back when they still lived in Transylvania, holding up the sobbing woman with a fist in her long blonde hair, "is dinner." Vlad had watched in horror as his Dad sank his fangs into the pale curve of her neck, lips and chin coming away streaked red with blood. The Count had grinned then, fangs glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Vlad had shrank back against the wall shaking his head, unable to form words, eyes fixed on the lifeless form at his father's feet. He knew it was what he should want. But he didn't.

* * *

**#02. Shocked**

"She's gone," Ingrid had said the day their mother ran off with a werewolf, eyes wide and over bright. Vlad had offered her a strained smile, not knowing what to say to make it better. Somehow knowing instinctively that there was _nothing_ he could say to make it better. Ingrid had sunk down onto the cold stone step next to him, expression blank with shock, and he had touched a hand to her arm. She had looked at it like it was a bug and snatched her arm away, sneering into his face, "She's gone and it's all your fault."

* * *

**#03. Hurt**

The first time he argued with Robin – really argued with him – it hurt like nothing he had ever experienced. It wasn't the sharp pain of being punished, the blistering heat of fire or the crack of the cane against uncalloused skin; that he could handle. Instead it was an ache deep inside of him, tearing him apart with the need to go and beg Robin's forgiveness. To plead with him to still be his friend. He did neither, forcing himself to stay away until Robin finally came to him. In that moment he knew; he'd never be so stubborn again.

* * *

**#04. Angry**

He wanted to scream, to lash out and howl his frustration. He stood there trembling, fists clenched tightly at his sides and the words just wouldn't come. The 'how could you!?'s and the 'what were you thinking!?'s dying in his throat at the sight of the misery on Robin's face. The way he couldn't even bring himself to look him in the face. He was still angry, still wanted to know the how's and why's. Instead he pulled Robin into his arms and let him sob into the fabric of his shirt. Sometimes you just had to let things go.

* * *

**#05. Vengeful**

"How can you let him say that about us?" Robin hissed, glaring at Jonno's retreating back. "Why don't you want to do anything about it!?" Vlad shrugged with careful nonchalance, training his own gaze on the floor. How could he ever begin to explain to Vlad that the insults didn't bother him. That he wished harder than he ever had before that they could be true. That Robin might one day come to like him back. Robin shook his head in disgust and Vlad scurried to keep up with his long strides, wondering what else he was supposed to do.

* * *

**#06. Love-Struck**

The first time Vlad realised that the feelings weren't going to go away, were only getting stronger, he didn't say a word. They were sat in his bedroom, Robin for once silent as he concentrated on his work, expression so intense Vlad could do nothing but stare longingly in his direction. Imagining what would happen if he just reached out and _touched_ Robin, his tousled hair and impossibly pale skin. Robin felt his focussed gaze and glanced up, smiling, before returning to his art. Vlad felt his heart constrict and in that instant he was certain; it was love.

* * *

**#07. Realisation.**

It couldn't have gone on forever, Vlad knew that. It was still a shock; a horrible sick-to-his-stomach shock when he saw the realisation on Robin's face. He'd been found out. Robin had gaped for a long moment, jaw working but no sound escaping. Vlad had looked down at his own hands to see them shaking in fear, terrified that Robin would want nothing more to with him. "Why?" Robin had asked finally, big dark eyes demanding an answer from him. Vlad had bit his lip and shook his head helplessly; he didn't know why he loved him. He just did.

* * *

**#08. Ecstatic**

At night, when he was alone in his bed, Vlad struggled to keep silent. Bit down at his lip hard enough to draw blood, cringing even as he was powerless to stop himself panting heavily into the darkness. Robin wasn't even talking to him and still he couldn't stop himself imagining that it was his hand wrapped around him, larger and hotter and _surer_ than his own. When it was all over, the pleasure fading to guilt and shame and a hundred other unpleasant emotions he thought again of Robin and it was all he could do not to cry.

* * *

**#09. Depressed**

Those weeks were the worst of his entire unlife, the neverending ache in his chest and then the long miserable nights of sobbing into his pillow. Robin was careful to avoid eye contact with him in school, preferring to sit on his own than acknowledge his existence. Mrs. Branagh came to the castle especially to see him, asking if there was anything she could do to help mend the rift between them. He had shaken his head and fought back the sting of tears. It didn't make any difference what he felt; he couldn't force Robin to love him back.

* * *

**#10. Flustered**

Robin was blushing and awkward when he finally came to apologise, avoiding eye contact and wringing his pale hands together. Vlad couldn't speak past the lump in his throat, tentatively touching a hand to Robin's forearm in an attempt to tell him that it was all okay, that he would always be his friend. Robin met his gaze then; eyes heated, surging in closer and crushing their lips together. Vlad froze then kissed back desperately, pushing his hands into Robin's dark hair and plundering his mouth until they were forced to separate for air. For once they were _both_ speechless.


	41. Chapter 42

"What do you think?" Vlad asked proudly, standing back to admire his handiwork. Robin stared at the browning tree and strings of threadbare tinsel and bit at his lip, trying not to laugh out loud.

"Very, er, festive," he managed, unable to hold back a snigger he was forced to hide with a pretend coughing fit. Vlad narrowed his eyes and sulked,

"_You_ couldn't understand."

Robin felt a sting of guilt, remembering the look of wide eyed joy on Vlad's face the year before when his Mam switched the lights of the newly decorated Christmas tree on.

"We've never celebrated it," Vlad went on, tone maudlin. As if on cue the Count appeared in the doorway of the crypt, doing a double take at the sight of Vlad's pathetic attempt at seasonal interior design. With a casual flick of the wrist the tree caught on fire, the cheap plastic baubles melting as Vlad's face fell.

The Count beamed, "Ah, much better." Vlad stormed from the room, the sound of his bedroom door slamming reverberating through the castle. "What's wrong with him?" The Count asked in obvious confusion.

Robin shrugged lightly and looked at what was left of the tree thoughtfully. He had an idea.

**xXx  
**

"Nice look," Ingrid sneered as Vlad let himself in, rain sodden clothing clinging to him, hair plastered to his face. He sneered back,

"Shut up."

Ingrid went back to her magazine, unconcerned. "Branagh's in your room, by the way," she said as he made his way towards the stairs. He looked back at her in confusion and she grinned, "The element of surprise, Vlad. He won't be able to run fast enough."

Vlad just glowered.

He hesitated outside his own bedroom door, raking his fingers through his hair and patting down his shirt in an attempt to look calm and collected. In truth he was anything but; heart thumping quickly in his chest as he imagined Robin lounging across his bed.

Satisfied he'd done all he could Vlad pushed the door open softly, jaw dropping at the sight that met him. Robin glanced at him over his shoulder and smiled widely; securing the end of the tinsel in his hand before clambering down from the chair he was standing on.

"Robin," Vlad started, gaze lingering on the tree and the twinkling fairy lights, "it's beautiful."

The other boy blushed, obviously pleased with himself. "We had loads of spare stuff; Dad wouldn't let Mam 'ave more than three trees this year," he gestured at the artificial tree behind him. "And," Robin gave Vlad a lopsided grin, "I wanted to see that look on your face."

Vlad smiled back, pushing the door shut and moving to stand at Robin's side. To slide his hands around his waist and pull him closer. "I take back everything I say about you," he looked around him again before meeting Robin's dark gaze, "this is amazing."

"What can I say?" Robin gloated smugly, but his expression was soft and pleased. Vlad pressed their lips together briefly and took Robin's hand, pulling him to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, facing the tree. Their thighs were pressed tight together and Vlad put an arm around Robin, leaning his head against the taller boy's shoulder happily.

"You know what this means though?" He asked eventually, tone glum enough for Robin to look at him sharply. Vlad groaned,

"I'm going to have to put even _more_ effort into finding you a Christmas present."


	42. Chapter 43

_**A/N: Written for the cbbc_slash kink meme on livejournal.**_

* * *

"We don't have to do this," Vlad says anxiously, sparing a glance at the locked door. At Robin's raised eyebrow he corrects himself, gnawing at his lower lip, "_You_ don't have to do this."

He doesn't, Robin knows. Theoretically he could walk away and wipe his hands clean of the whole affair. In practice he knows it's impossible; couldn't put Vlad in that situation. Understands how it will destroy him if he has to force somebody. So, he swallows thickly and slides a tentative hand around the back of Vlad's neck and pulls him closer,

"I want to."

Vlad hesitates still, searching his face carefully before nodding almost imperceptibly. Then he lowers icy lips to his own, the gentle touch belying the awesome power Robin knows the other boy can command.

"I don't want to hurt you," Vlad tells him solemnly, blue eyes full of sincerity as he lowers him back against the bed. Cold fingers slide up under his shirt as he repeats himself, "I don't ever want to hurt you."

He has no answer to that. Doesn't know how to tell Vlad he's already hurt him, doesn't want to admit how much the fact that Vlad would never have considered touching him were he not desperate stings. Instead he pulls Vlad to him silently, kissing Vlad as if both their lives depend on it, arching up into Vlad's slighter frame at the slick touch of Vlad's tongue against his own.

Something shifts then, Vlad moaning into his mouth, pressing him tight against the mattress as he strips them both with quick efficient movements. Robin's always supposed that Vlad has no experience in this area, a supposition quickly proved correct as Vlad stares at him with shy eyes, both of them painfully aware of their wider audience.

Vlad should be in control here, should be taking the lead. Instead Robin takes his unresisting hand and presses it between them, tries not to compare it to those who have been there before as Vlad's eyelids flutter shut, mouth falling open as if it were his own body under assault. His hand moves experimentally, the angle awkward and Robin shifts beneath him, heated fingers brushing against Vlad's chilled skin as he attempts to rearrange him.

"I don't know what to do," Vlad breathes, the words coming disjointedly. "You need to show me what to do."

He feels sorry for Vlad then. This is the closest Vlad has ever been to anyone and they're both only hereY out of a sense of duty. Vlad to tradition and he to Vlad. He slides his palms up Vlad's arms, across the sweep of his shoulders and up until his fingers are tangled in Vlad's hair. "It's going to be alright," he lies, moving them both so he's braced on his hands above Vlad, Vlad's bony hips and knees and elbows pressing sharply in all the wrong places.

"I'm glad it's you," Vlad whispers, eyes at once full of apology and terror and something else that makes him smile back as reassuringly as he can, even as the sound of scuffling in the corridor filters through the door, telling them to hurry up.

"Me too, Vlad. Me too."


	43. Chapter 44

**_A/N: Written for +slashthedrabble challenge #235 "Mood"._**

* * *

"There's no point trying to reason with you when you're like this," Robin scolded, not looking up from the screen, thumbs pummelling viciously at the plastic controller.

Vlad scowled in response, narrowing his eyes and making a show of huffing as he settled back against Robin's headboard – not that Robin could see him – and said, "When I'm like what?"

"Like this," Robin told him distractedly, swaying slightly as the car on screen swerved. He elaborated, "In a mood."

"I am _not_ in a mood," Vlad muttered bitterly.

Robin threw the pad down in disgust, 'Game Over' flashing brightly across the screen, and scooted back to sit next to Vlad. "Happy now?" He raised an eyebrow at the sulky expression on Vlad's face, "Come on, cheer up, you have my _undivided_ attention."

Vlad shrugged, but otherwise didn't answer. He just about restrained himself from folding his arms across his chest; he didn't want to give Robin any more ammunition.

"You sulk more than anyone I know," Robin went on solemnly, "_even_ Chloe. But," he squirmed around until he was lying on his stomach, chin resting in his hands, "You're lucky."

Vlad looked at him sharply and Robin grinned, "It suits you!"


	44. Chapter 45

**A/N****:**** _Got the idea for this whilst watching 'Ar y Tracs' the other day (the drama Ruth Jones – of Gavin and Stacey fame – did for S4C this Christmas); there's a character who dreams of being on a reality TV show. Any reality TV show. …Except S4C's. =D Other notes - my Welsh is sucky. Trufax._**

* * *

"Do we 'ave to watch this?" Robin scowled at the television, glancing longingly at the living room window. If only he could escape to the castle.

"Yes," Mr. Branagh answered brusquely, using the remote to turn the volume up a few extra notches. "This is your heritage."

Robin watched as the opening credits started; the cheesy music and gameshow-esque sparkle as he presenter grinned toothily at the camera. If this was all they had to show for millennia of civilisation they might as well just give up now, he thought bitterly.

"We've got to give Dyfan our support, Robin," Mrs. Branagh added, gesturing at the screen. "He could be the next Gareth Gates."

"He already is." Robin murmured under his breath, "A loser."

"I could be on this," Paul said, taking a brief time out from stuffing his face with biscuits, "with my guitar."

"You can't speak Welsh," Chloe pointed out, not looking up from her book. Robin thought it was unfair that she got away with reading some textbook when his own copy of '_Bloodthirsty Babes Down Under_' had been confiscated for the duration.

Paul shrugged, "I could get by, like. To be on the telly."

"I'll have to give Alys a ring after," Mrs. Branagh said excitedly, ignoring Mr. Branagh's shushing, "I can't believe it. Dyfan's going to be a star!"

Robin looked at her in disbelief, "It's 'Wawffactor' not X Factor. There's probably only us and some sheep watching it."

It was too late; Dyfan was on screen, dressed head to toe in black – which was his look, just because Dyfan was older didn't mean he had it first – and giving the judges some sob story about how he was doing it in memory of his Nan. Who he never bothered to visit.

"Hasn't he got a beautiful voice?"

Mr. Branagh nodded, "He gets it from my side of the family."

Robin scowled. It was only the auditions stage and he was already sick of hearing about _Dyfan.  
_

* * *

"He thinks he's so amazing," Robin spat, gesticulating wildly as he leant back against Vlad's pillows, "just because he can sing a bit. So what!? I'm an awesome artist but I don't keep going on about it."

Vlad bit at his lip and looked away. Robin would not be happy to have the truth pointed out to him, he knew from experience.

"I don't see why we 'ave to go up there anyway. He's not going to get into the finals. Even if he does they're filming it in _Bangor_," he stressed the last as if it explained his animosity to the entire situation. "I told my Mam; if Vlad can't come, I'm not going. End of."

"Er, thanks?" Vlad shook his head and scooted closer to Robin. As close as he dared at least. _That_ was another conversation he got the sinking feeling Robin wouldn't be a fan of. "So," Vlad frowned, "you're not going to visit your cousin because I can't go?"

"What?" Robin pulled a face, as if he thought Vlad were being particularly dense. "Don't be stupid. We're both going." Vlad gaped but before he had chance to say anything Robin went on, "We're going to have to share a room with him, you can see what a weirdo he is. I'm telling you…"

Vlad tuned him out, so that the sound of Robin's voice washed over him without any of the detail. This was probably a bad idea on many levels, so close to his transformation. Even so, he was already planning how to convince his Dad to let him go.

**

* * *

**  
Ingrid was sneering at them, looking more threatening than usual with her fingernails filed into sharp points, and the high collar of her cape framing her face,

"Don't you mean X Factor?"

"No," Robin grimaced, "trust me; she means Wawffactor."

Mrs. Branagh was oblivious, smiling up at the Count, "It would be very educational for him Mr. Count. I bet he's never heard anyone speaking Welsh on a day to day basis before."

"Speaking what?" The Count frowned haughtily. Addressing Vlad he asked, "Is this more of your breather slang?" He punctuated it with a poor attempt at a gangsta hand flick and Robin had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing. He imagined Vlad trying to be street and bit down harder.

"It's the oldest living language in Europe, Count," Mr. Branagh cut in smugly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Oh, yes, you won't find culture like this anywhere else."

"Peasants, fighting amongst themselves for money? I seem to remember seeing a lot of that back in Transylvania."

Mr. Branagh huffed and spluttered, Ingrid smirked smugly. The Count slouched into his throne, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Vladdy has lots of important work to do here," he gestured over at a suspiciously red stained sheep skin on the floor at his feet. "Practice, practice and more practice; that's what he needs now."

"Please let me go, Dad," Vlad whined. "Please." He plastered his most endearing expression on his face, crossing his fingers at his sides.

"Hoping to creep up on Branagh whilst he's asleep, are you?" Ingrid hissed quietly, "I heard all about how you 'forgot' your sleeping bag on that camping trip."

Vlad flushed and looked nervously over at Robin, hoping he hadn't heard. The Count however leaned forward eagerly, "Is that how it is, Vlad? You want to practice on a human neck? That's my boy!"

"Actually-"

"Vlad," Robin grinned, attention trained back on him, oblivious to the how of the Count granting permission, "you're coming?"

Renfield sniffled loudly from his place behind the throne, "They grow up so quickly, Master."

**

* * *

**

"Stacey, babe," Ian said into his mobile phone handset as he clambered into the campervan, Vlad scrabbling in behind him and collapsing into a seat next to Robin. "Of course I'm going to miss you."

"Thanks for this, Vlad," Robin said earnestly, "You 'ave no idea how awful it's going to be."

"You're not really selling it well, Robin," Vlad grinned, searching in his backpack for the sweets he'd picked up that morning, heart skipping a beat at the way Robin's eyes lit up as he handed him a packet.

"I'll be thinking of you every minute," Ian was saying and Robin raised an eyebrow, grinning. Vlad grinned back and settled into the seat, shifting slightly so that their arms were pressed together lightly. When Robin didn't pull away he relaxed, watching with interest as Ian finished his call.

Ian looked up, "Gotta keep them sweet, mun." Paul was still nodding seriously when the phone rang again. Ian answered it, "Kayleigh, baby, of course I'm going to miss you."

Robin nudged him in amusement as Mr. Branagh started up the van. Vlad beamed; this was going to be the best half term holiday ever.

* * *

"This is BBC Radio Wales with the latest traffic news…"

"Aw, can't we 'ave something decent on?" Robin whined, squirming in his seat and jarring Vlad from his comfortable position leaning against him. He looked at his iPod mournfully, "My battery's dead

"Yeah," Paul protested, "the rugby's on."

"I said something decent."

Mrs. Branagh cut in dreamily, "How about a bit of music? We could have a little sing song." Robin gaped in horror as Mr. Branagh dutifully flicked through the channels, each being met with groaning my over half of the van's occupants.

"That's it," he snapped eventually, "We're having this on. No arguments."

Vlad listened carefully, deciphering the words. "The latest farming news with Dei Tomos?"

Chloe peered at him speculatively, "You understood that?" The twins and Robin looked up at him too, Vlad feeling his cheeks heat up under the close scrutiny. He shrugged,

"I like languages." It was true. It had been his favourite thing to study with his old governess. Mostly because it was the only subject that didn't merit a practical demonstration involving local peasants and the draining of blood. He could tell Robin wasn't impressed so nudged him slightly with his shoulder, "Should help me chat up all the girls." It didn't go down as well as he'd expected; Robin just scowling harder.

"You hear that, Robin," Mr. Branagh said, looking at him through the mirror, "Vlad speaks your own language better than you do."

Robin scowled, "It's not my own language." Vlad tried to give him an apologetic smile but Robin just turned away, so he was facing out of the window. "_Swot_."

Vlad had never met anyone who was as accomplished at holding a grudge as Robin. And with Count Dracula for a father he thought that was saying something. By the time they reached their destination Robin's standoffishness was only just beginning to thaw. Vlad knew he wouldn't have chance to enjoy it as Mrs. Branagh's exclamation of "Doesn't Dyfan look smart?" took things right back to sub-zero temperatures.

He stood uncomfortably to one side as hugs and comments about growth spurts were exchanged, feeling awkward and out of place. Mrs. Branagh noticed then and tugged him firmly into the centre of proceedings by his arm. "This is Vlad, Robin's friend." The twins nudged their cousins and sniggered, Vlad _almost_ certain he heard the words 'special friend'.

"From Transylvania," Mrs. Branagh elaborated, smiling widely at Robin's Aunt Alys and a man, who from his close resemblance to Mr. Branagh, Vlad assumed must be Robin's uncle.

"See Bryn, the children are getting a cosmopolitan education in Stokely," Mr. Branagh said smugly, more than a hint of competition in his voice. Robin shook his head and grabbed Vlad's arm before the man could answer, whispering,

"Come on, they'll be ages once they get started." Vlad followed meekly. He was just glad Robin was still seeing fit to speak to him.

**

* * *

**

"What is going on here!?" The Count howled, rubbing at his shin where he had knocked it into one of the pieces of furniture littering the darkened corridor.

Ingrid stuck her head round Vlad's bedroom door and smirked. "I'm having a clear out."

"These belong to your brother."

"Exactly," Ingrid rolled her eyes. "I'm clearing them out to make space for my things." She went back inside, her voice carrying, "If he'd wanted this room so badly he'd stay and keep an eye on it." The Count scowled and pushed a chair out of the way so he could reach the staircase.

Inside Ingrid leant against the window frame, peering out through the cracks in the shuttered window before glowering darkly at Zoltan. "What are you looking at, fleabag? Unless you want to see how quickly stuffing goes up in flames," she held a hand up, palm facing outwards, "Scram!"

Zoltan wheeled himself away and Ingrid grinned. It was just too easy.

**

* * *

**  
"Robin _bach_," a thickly accented voice drawled. Vlad looked up to see one of the boys from earlier leaning nonchantly against the door frame, smirk plastered across his face. He looked a bit older than them, all dark hair and darker clothing. Exactly how he imagined Robin might look in a few years time. Vlad looked away.

"I'm not a kid," Robin scowled.

"Whatever," the boy answered, dropping down to sit on the bed next to Vlad. Not wanting to look him in the eye Vlad let his gaze travel across the room, taking in the clothes and records piled haphazardly all over the place, and the guitars lining the far wall. "Do you play?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"Only Kumbaya," Robin answered for him, to Vlad's humiliation, "Dad taught him."

"More than you can do, I bet."

"Shut up, Dyfan. Shouldn't you be practicing for Wawffactor or something?" Robin asked sarcastically. "What's the prize this year, a sheep of your very own?"

They were staring each other down now and Vlad supposed he should have realised the Robin lookalike would be Dyfan.

They were so alike they couldn't stand each other.

**  


* * *

**  
The next morning Vlad woke up to find himself alone. He got dressed quickly and went downstairs in search of Robin. Just as he was about to enter the kitchen he heard his name and held back, curious, listening at the door.

"Mae Vlad yn bachgen hyfryd iawn," Mrs. Branagh was saying, "ond mae rhaid i Robin ffeindio ffrindiau arall. Mae Graham yn dweud mae'n afiach ofnadwy." [_Vlad is a lovely boy, but Robin needs to find other friends. Graham says it's awful unhealthy._]

"Popeth yn _iawn_," a voice that unmistakably belonged to Aunt Alys soothed, "Mae Dyfan fuodd e'n yr un fath. Ond 'look at him now!'" The tone changed suddenly, the sound of the kitchen door slamming shut reverberating through the thin walls. "Boys, there you are!" [_Don't worry. Dyfan was the same. But 'look at him now!'_]

Smoothing down his shirt Vlad stood up straight and made his way into the kitchen for breakfast. Mrs. Branagh told him he was looking smart and he smiled back politely, ignoring Robin's look of disgust. He had a reputation to maintain.

* * *

Afternoon found him sat back in the bedroom he was sharing with Robin and Dyfan for the next couple of days. The former having been roped in by Mr. Branagh to go and watch him play his brother at squash and, in Mr. Branagh's own words, give him a thrashing. Vlad got the impression there were a lot of unresolved issues there.

He eyed the nearest guitar up with interest, glancing at the door furtively before picking it up and strumming at it experimentally.

"You want to hold it a little looser."

Vlad jumped in surprise, narrowly avoiding dropping the guitar to the floor. "Sorry, I shouldn't have taken it without asking."

"Don't worry about it, mun," Dyfan said with a dismissive wave of his hand, gesturing for him to sit down – with the guitar. He sat next to Vlad, so close it was all Vlad could do _not_ to think about just how alike he and Robin were. He inhaled deeply; they even wore the same aftershave. "I could teach you how to play if you like."

"Really?" Vlad gave him a genuine smile before remembering something. "But shouldn't you be practicing?"

"It's not school," Dyfan scoffed. "And it's only for S4C. But," he grinned, all dimples and Vlad felt his stomach squirm in the same way it did when Robin bestowed that same smile on him, "don't tell my Mam that."

He'd started to master the finger placement when Robin appeared in the doorway, face dropping as he took in the sight. Vlad offered him a smile, not liking the way the atmosphere had immediately tensed up but not knowing how to change it. "How was the match?"

Robin didn't answer, instead giving him an icy look. "Cozy in here, innit?"

"Dyfan's been teaching me how to play. Look," Vlad made to give Robin a demonstration but the other boy shook his head.

"You're alright, thanks." He gave Dyfan one last narrow eyed look before storming back in the direction he'd just come.

"Leave him," Dyfan told him smoothly, reading his thoughts. "He needs time to cool off; I used to be exactly the same."

"What? Hot tempered?" Vlad offered.

"Nah," Dyfan smirked,

"a dick."  
**  
**

* * *

Dyfan had to be at the studio the next day so Vlad was left with the other kids to go and 'explore'. Chloe made straight for the museum without consulting anyone. The twins and Robin's elder cousins, Cai and Gethin, went to play rugby. Which left him and Robin. And, as Robin was refusing to acknowledge his existence, the fun soon wore off there.

"Robin," he started, "Don't be like this. I thought you wanted me to come."

He didn't even get a grunt in response, Robin keeping his head resolutely stuck in Bloodthirsty Babes Down Under. Vlad felt his temper rising at being given the brush off for some trashy vampire action. If Robin wanted to get hot under the collar with a vampire he was right in front of him.

"You're being childish." When he still didn't get a reaction Vlad went in for the kill, "I think Dyfan's really nice. You're just jealous because everyone likes him."

That one hit its mark, he could tell. The murderous look on Robin's face was enough without the way he through the book to the floor and got to his feet, jabbing a finger in his face. "That's what you think, is it?"

Vlad shrugged stubbornly, refusing to back down. "That's what it looks like to me."

Robin stared at him intently for a long moment. "Fine, whatever. I don't care."

Vlad watched him slam from the room with an ache in his chest. It felt like he'd only spited himself.

**

* * *

**  
"Isn't this exciting?" Mrs. Branagh beamed, steering him towards their seats with one hand on his shoulder. Vlad looked behind him longingly, but Robin was too busy ignoring him. "Turn that phone off, Ian," she scolded as they sat down. "Your infidelity will have to wait 'til after."

Chloe snorted with surprised laughter and a couple sat in front of them turned round to glare. Vlad sank into the seat and tried to fix his gaze on the stage, unable to stop himself looking at Robin every 30 seconds all the same.

"I can't even understand what they're saying," Robin hissed as the presenter bounced onto the stage and Vlad wrung his hands together in frustration. It was going to be a long night.

**

* * *

**  
Even Robin looked anxious as they neared the end, Dyfan and his opponent, a pretty girl with long blonde hair, stood waiting for the judges' decision. Mrs. Branagh was peering through her fingers, murmuring "I can't watch" under her breath.

The seconds ticked by, tension rising, and then Dyfan's name was called out and Mrs. Branagh made enough noise next to him to make him fear for the safety of his ear drum. The twins clapped their cousin across the back as soon as they were allowed to see him, the whole family crowding around to congratulate him. Except Robin.

He met Robin's gaze as he was shaking Dyfan's hand, surprised to see the extent of the anger written clear across his face, before Robin turned and stormed off. Mrs. Branagh pulled Dyfan tight into another hug and Vlad took the opportunity to follow Robin. He found him outside, sat on the low wall encircling the car park, his coat pulled tight around him in the freezing winter air.

Vlad sat down next to him, pretending not to notice the way Robin was scowling at him. "Are you going to tell me what the problem is?"

"You _know_ what the problem is."

He sighed, why did Robin choose now to be cryptic about things? "I really don't, Robin." Vlad pushed his hands into his coat pockets, wondering why they couldn't be having this talk indoors.

Robin shook his head, looking out into the far distance. "Should have known you'd prefer him. Like you said, everyone else does." The tone was bitter and Vlad had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Maybe if you tried being nicer to people, they'd like you too."

"Yeah, that's right," Robin mocked, "It's all my fault." He pushed in closer to Vlad, close enough for his breath to mist across his face, making him shiver. "I wasn't the one who started it."

"Started what!?" Vlad asked in frustration, "What are you talking about!?" The biting cold really wasn't helping his mood.

"Don't act all innocent," Robin snapped, looking away. "You can't just lead someone on and then ditch them when you find a better version."

Vlad startled at that, turning the words over in his mind to make sure he had understood correctly. "He's not a better version of you," he said carefully, scarcely daring to believe he'd been such an idiot. All that time he'd spent afraid that Robin would work it out, and Robin already knew. Wanted him back. He grinned crookedly at Robin, "There's nobody better than you. You should know that, you tell me often enough."

Robin gave him a searching look, dark eyes boring into him. "So you don't fancy him?"

"Of course not," Vlad lied smoothly. He wasn't a _total_ idiot. "He was just teaching me how to play the guitar, that's all." He shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, "It was either him or your dad."

"Vlad," Robin grinned at him, pressing cold fingers to his cheek, "I'm sorry for sulking."

"It's alright. I'm sorry too."

Robin gave him a puzzled look, "For what?"

"For waiting so long," Vlad leant in closer still, hovering just above Robin's lips, "to do this."

* * *

"Robin!" Mrs. Branagh called. "Robin!" Ian scowled at her as he pressed his phone closer to his ear, trying and failing to get a word in, the sound of ranting escaping the tinny speaker.

"Have we lost one?" Aunt Alys asked.

"No, two," Chloe piped up. "Vlad's gone too."

"Calm down," Dyfan grinned, gesturing at the window behind them. "They 'aven't gone far."

"Ugh," Paul pulled a face. "I could 'ave gone my whole life without seeing that." Gethin flung an arm around his shoulder, the other around Dyfan's,

"Aw, and I thought he fancied you."

"Shut up," Dyfan snorted. "Everyone fancies me, you know that."

"They will now, butt," Paul told him. "Girls love anyone who's been on telly." Ian clapped his phone shut viciously, jamming it in his pocket,

"Girls?" He looked at them all seriously, "You're better off not bothering."

"Taking tips out of Robin's book now are you?" Gethin asked, smirking. It was three days before Ian got it.

**

* * *

**  
_Epilogue_.

"Thanks for letting me come," Vlad told Mr. and Mrs. Branagh politely. "I had a really good time." Paul nudged Chloe,

"I bet he did."

Robin scowled at them but kept quiet.

"That's quite alright, Vlad," Mr. Branagh assured him. "Always nice to have someone around with a pleasant disposition," he eyed Robin up pointedly.

"I want you home by teatime, Robin," Mrs. Branagh warned.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you later," Robin slammed the van door shut and hefted Vlad's backpack to one shoulder. Vlad raised an eyebrow and he gave him a long suffering look in return. "What are you waiting for? I thought we'd never get any privacy."

Vlad grinned in understanding and rushed to open the castle door, creeping through the hallway as quietly as he could – his dad wouldn't be awake at this time in the afternoon if he was lucky – and up the stairs to his bedroom, Robin following close behind. When they reached his bedroom door he pulled Robin down into a kiss, fumbling with the door handle and walking backwards towards his bed.

Which wasn't there.

"As thrilling as watching you two swap spit _isn't_," Ingrid sweeped her gaze up and down them both coolly, "Could you do me a favour and get out of my room? Now!"

"This is my room," Vlad protested, taking in Ingrid's posters with a grimace. "It's always been my room."

Ingrid shrugged indifferently. "And now it's mine."

Robin tugged at his hand, "Come on." Vlad glared at his sister one last time before leaving, trying not to let her triumphant smirk get to him. He'd sort it out.

Later.


	45. Chapter 46

_**A/N: Robin gets a shock. =D**_

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* * *

  
**_

"I think I'd be amazing at it," Robin said, looking at his hand and wiggling his fingers in consideration, "don't you?"

Vlad pulled a face and raised an eyebrow, glad that everyone had given them the customary wide berth and weren't listening in to this conversation. Sometimes he thought they had a point; Robin was weird.

"I just need a girl to practice with," Robin went on, cocking his head to one side. Vlad scowled and debated giving Robin a lecture before deciding against it. Robin might be able to see that his opposition was not entirely moral.

"I don't really care who," Robin mused. "Although, obviously," he smirked at Vlad who looked back steadily, distaste written clearly across his face, "Ingrid is still top of the list. She's so hot when she does that headlock thing."

"You need help." Vlad looked back down at his physics textbook, carefully copying out a definition of electromagnetic waves in an attempt to stop himself staring at the fading mark on Robin's neck. Rain pelted loudly against the wide classroom windows and the whole room smelled wet and earthy, like their temporary crypt had in Budapest. "Serious help." He wasn't entirely certain if he was referring to himself or Robin.

"We can't all live like monks, Vlad," Robin told him solemnly. "It's not normal, you know," he shook his head, "you should at least be _trying_ to get your leg over."

"Robin!" Vlad hissed, looking around anxiously. Robin just shrugged, no sign of contrition. "Anyway, I thought being normal was so last century," Vlad mocked when he was satisfied nobody had heard, grinning crookedly at the look Robin gave him in return. "It's different for vampires, anyway," he avoided Robin's eye, hoping he wasn't blushing too badly, "it's – well, it's just not the same."

He didn't really want to go into the detail. Not now, in the middle of double physics when he was already fighting not to just lean in and press his lips back to Robin's skin. Not ever, actually.

"You're such a liar," Robin scoffed, finally picking up his own pen and making a start on some work. "Look at Ingrid."

Vlad restrained himself from pointing out that, technically, Ingrid was a vampire_ss_, and that, actually, if Will hadn't been turned into a blood sucking monster in his own right, he'd have more than likely have had something to say about the whole issue. Not a very nice something at that. Instead he just kept his attention on his exercise book and hoped Robin would leave it there.

He should have known that Robin was nothing if not persistent.

**xXx**

They were lounging about in Vlad's bedroom after school; Vlad sat with his homework balanced across his lap, biting at his lip as he grappled with the finer points of Welsh grammar. Robin was sprawled languidly across his bed, books unopened at his side and his arms pillowed behind his head.

"So, come on then," Robin broke the silence, turning his head to look at him – exposing his throat and making Vlad bite down hard enough on his lip to coat his tongue with the metallic tang of blood. It did nothing to soften the blow of Robin's next words, "How is it different for vampires?" He grinned lecherously, "All rainbow kisses, is it?"

"Don't be so _disgusting_," Vlad grimaced. Robin carried on staring at him expectantly and Vlad sighed, looking down at his book, "It's sort of hard to explain." Robin used his foot to push his schoolbooks to the floor, propping himself up on one elbow and giving Vlad his full attention,

"We've got all night."

"Haven't you got better things to do than ask me about," Vlad faltered, "_that sort of thing?_"

"Um," Robin glanced around him as if searching for something before looking back, "no." He beamed encouragingly, "Off you go."

Vlad worried at his lower lip, more blood filling his mouth and overriding his common sense. Robin was watching him intently and the room suddenly felt far too hot. "It's embarrassing," he managed eventually, not daring to look up to gauge Robin's reaction.

"Is it really gross?" Robin asked eagerly.

"No!" Vlad scowled at him, "It's just embarrassing talking about," he waved a hand agitatedly, "well, you know."

"There is nothing you can say to shock me, Vlad," Robin said earnestly. "I know it all." He scooted closer. "Don't be embarrassed, you know you can tell me anything," he smiled easily, "I've had your slobber all over my neck, can't be any worse than that, can it?"

Vlad squirmed uncomfortably. That, right there, was the problem. "You said you wanted to help me practice biting," he protested, a little too defensively. "You kept on and on about it."

"Alright, keep your hair on." Robin shook his head, "I just didn't see the point in you finding some stranger when I'm right here. Anyway," his tone turned scolding, "Stop trying to change the subject."

Cheeks burning with a mixture of guilt and embarrassment, Vlad fidgeted, "I'm not." Avoiding Robin's eye he said hurriedly, "That's what we do, most of the time, I mean, sometimes, we don't – well we don't _just_ do that – but mostly we just," he gulped in a breath, tensing all over as he risked meeting Robin's dark eyes, "_bite_."

"_Bite_?" Robin repeated slowly, eyes wide. Vlad nodded nervously, wishing, not for the first time, that he'd had far greater self control and not given in to Robin's breathy, '_Bite me, Vlad. You know you want to_.'

"So, let me get this straight," Robin glared at him, "and there's a pun – all this time I've been doing the decent thing and letting you practice, _you've_ been getting off on it!"

"Well," Vlad gave him an apologetic look, "you have got a really nice neck." His eyes were drawn to the pale skin of Robin's throat and Robin put a hand round it hurriedly, self-consciously. "I can't help it!" Vlad protested.

"You could have kept your mouth to yourself," Robin told him heatedly, still clutching one hand to his throat, as if for protection.

"You _offered_," Vlad whined. Because, Robin had. Like something out of the grainy film reels he'd once caught Great Uncle Armand watching back on one of their annual visits to Hungary. Robin did not look appeased,

"That was before I knew you were – were - were enjoying it too much!"

Vlad wrung his hands together at that, suddenly curious. "Didn't you like it?" He asked quietly.

"Oh my God."

"I did try," Vlad went on, desperate to explain himself now that Robin knew the truth about the situation, "but I haven't done it with anyone else so I wasn't sure if I was doing it right. It felt amazing but - "

"Please stop talking."

"I really wanted it to be good for you too –"

"Vlad!" Robin yelled, finally getting his attention. "Shut up."

The silence dragged and Vlad couldn't keep still, twisting his fingers into his bed covers. When he could stand it no longer, _had_ to know what was going through Robin's mind, he blurted, "Does this mean you don't want to practice with me anymore?"

Robin met his gaze incredulously, "And you think _I_ need help?"

"So," Vlad pressed, feeling his stomach sink, "that's a no then?"

Robin heaved a sigh, gaze fixed on some point behind Vlad's head.

"It's an 'I'll think about it'."

Vlad smiled; it'd be alright. He was nothing if not persistent.


	46. Chapter 47

_**A/N: Written for +slashthedrabble prompt #236 "Win".  
**_

_**

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**_

"I'm bound to win, obviously," Robin told him, adding his name to the list pinned to the notice board, "the talent, the looks; I've got it all."

Vlad settled for raising an eyebrow and shifting his briefcase to the other hand. Robin watched the movement in distaste,

"Do you 'ave to carry that? You make me look like a right weirdo."

"I thought you did that all on your own."

Robin narrowed his eyes, "Ha ha. Very funny, Vlad. Not."

Vlad sniggered and Robin heaved a put upon sigh. "Seriously, though, you'll 'ave to make more of an effort when I'm rich and famous. You'll put off all my female fans." He grinned widely, "Of which there will be many." Robin checked his watch then, cursing under his breath, "I'm gonna be late; you coming?"

"I'll catch you up," Vlad said innocently, waiting until Robin had disappeared down the corridor and around the corner before scrambling in his case for a pen. Glancing quickly up and down he leaned in to the board, scrawling out Robin's name.

Sometimes, he thought as he screwed the cap back on with a flourish, you just have to do what you have to do.


	47. Chapter 48

_**A/N: Written for +fiction_drabble (Dreamwidth) prompt #38 "freedom".**_

_**

* * *

**_Beauty, so Mrs. Branagh always says, is in the eye of the beholder. Vlad thinks that this must be true because she married Mr. Branagh, although he doesn't think it's a bad thing because, if she hadn't, Robin would never have been born.

With Robin, he is the beholder and, in his eyes, Robin is very beautiful.

He once told Robin this.

Robin thought he was joking and laughed until tears were running down his face, forcing Vlad to rethink his position on the right to freedom of speech.

He still thinks it.

But _now_ he keeps it to himself.


	48. Chapter 49

_**A/N: **_**_Crossover with Joe Dunthorne's "Submarine". (Ie. the book of the film Craig Roberts is doing at the moment. He's playing the lead character, Oliver Tate.) From Oliver's pov, beware my sucky attempt at pastiching Dunthorne._**

_**

* * *

**_It's the kind of scene you read about in the newspapers. Not the newspapers my parents receive, but the type Chips' dad leaves lying around their untidy front room. The Star and The Sun and, on special occasions, the News of the World.

The man is gasping. Strange noises pushing past his parted lips. I cannot distinguish if it is a cry for help or a plea for more. I loiter, comparing the sounds to the breathy mewls Jordana used to make.

Sounds I no longer use as a masturbatory aid.

Statistically somebody, somewhere, is raped every six minutes. This could be what is about to happen in front of me. I debate whether or not to intervene. If I don't, it could be the worst thing I've ever done.

However in this instance I will be an accessory rather than the perpetrator, unlike with Kieran. He is psychologically scarred. I saw him, coming out of the therapy centre in town. I didn't meet his eye.

Perhaps it will be the second worst thing I've ever done.

_**Punctilious**  
–adjective. Extremely attentive to punctilios; strict or exact in the observance of the formalities or amenities of conduct or actions._

I am uncertain as to the etiquette of the situation. How does one fight off a rapist? Jordana's cousin was raped. She didn't get pregnant. Jude says this was an act of God.

I think it was because the rapist could not climax.

It is a common problem among rapists. I read it in a book I once borrowed from the public library. It smelt musty and strange, like an old man had repeatedly coughed into the yellowing pages.

They have clocked my presence now, the man under attack meeting my gaze with terrified eyes, although his jaw is slack. He does not attempt to escape his assailant.

Once a victim, always a victim. I hypothesise he was molested as a child. This reawakening of the cycle of guilt will probably drive him to suicide.

Hanging is the most common form of suicide in Wales. This is surprising because it is one of the most painful ways to die. It can take over ten minutes to lose consciousness. My dad says that in the past people held on to their loved ones legs to kill them faster. He gets paid to know that.

The attacker raises his head from the other man's throat, his lips bloodied. It makes me feel nauseous. Vampirism is the act of drawing blood from another person, usually sexual in nature. It is a fetish. Other fetishes include:

_**Catoptrophilia** — Unusual titillation in the presence of mirrors.___

_**Agalmatophilia **— The arousal by statues, mannequins, dolls and effigies._

_**Chremastistophilia** — Excitement at being robbed or held up._

There is also _**raptophilia** - becoming sexually aroused by the idea of being raped_. I have never felt raptophiliac in the slightest.

The attacker relinquishes his hold on his prey, the man stumbling away from the alleyway without sparing me a backwards glance. This is a modern 'every man for himself' world. I should have carried on walking and left the man in front of me to cut him into pieces and deposit his body in the River Tawe.

He advances towards me and I can see that his pupils are heavily dilated. My mother will be more upset at this. She likes to be sympathetic to drug addicts, presumably because of her recreational use of low grade cannabis. She will struggle to maintain this attitude if her only son is killed by a junkie.

There are more drug addicts in the UK than in any other European country. A gram of heroin costs between £10 and £30. On average drug taking turns fatal for around 3,000 British people every year.

"Robin?" He asks, blown pupils struggling to focus on my face. I stay silent.

He has very pale skin. Paler than the skin on the inside of my wrist. Paler even than the delicate flesh hidden by my watch strap.

"It is you, isn't it?" He tries again, tone almost reverent. His accent is strange, eastern European with a strong Welsh inflection. My knees feel weak with fear, and I map out all the likely places on my body he might choose to stab with a soiled hypodermic needle. "Do you remember me?"

I nod, although I have never seen him before in my life. I don't want to anger him. If he wants me to be Robin, I can be. It's a relatively small price to pay in exchange for my life.

The average male life span is 76 years. My great-granddad lived to 78. My granddad died at 86. Statistically this gives me a good head start over those around me. If I am murdered I will never know how 21st century convenience food impacts on this genetic good fortune.

He has me backed up against the wall now, no escape. His eyes are blue, and his teeth are still stained pink. "I've missed you," he tells me, reaching long pale fingers up to caress my cheek. His skin is almost translucent; not white like Zoe's, or tinged blue like Rhydian Evans'. "I think about you every day."

Over 1,600 people die from malignant melanoma each year. You can take easy precautions to protect yourself from the sun, such as wearing a hat, a t-shirt, and staying out of the midday sun.

If I said this to the ghostly pale apparition in front of me, I would be preaching to the converted.

"Have you missed me?" He asks, so close I can feel the words fan against my chilled skin. There is an urgency in his drug addled eyes, and his other hand came up to frame my face, fingers gentle as they pushed into my hairline.

Chips once said that, in this situation, he would knee the other bloke in the bollocks and run like the wind. I'm not much of a runner, but if I did it hard enough that would hardly matter. If done with enough force it can cause testicular rupture. Some people like it. They are Phalloorchoalgolagniacs.

I watched a documentary on it on Sky.

He doesn't wait for my response, as I expected. Instead he leans in closer, brushing icy lips against my own, his thigh falling between my legs. It has been 6 months and 5 days since my last encounter with a girl. My heterosexuality becomes less secure in the eyes of my peers with every passing minute.

Making out with a man who wants to rape me in a darkened alley will do nothing to relieve them of their doubts.

His tongue is slick against my own, and tastes metallic. This is not from eating flying saucers like Arwen Slade back on the bus to Dan-Yr-Gof show caves in year eight. I am willfully sucking on a third party's blood from the mouth of a complete stranger.

I cannot even begin to list the number of fatal diseases I am leaving myself open to.

His hand is clutching at my side, pushing up under the fabric of my shirt. I make an unintelligible keening noise into his mouth as he presses his thigh harder against me, and he responds by kissing me with greater fervour. I can feel his erection against my thigh and I mentally readjust my position on the Kinsey scale.

I am now rating _**2:** Predominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally homosexual._

He is easily a nine out of ten. My brain is unable to keep up. Only processing the fact that his teeth are so sharp my nipped lip is bleeding when he's already moved on to my neck.

Dai Davies was the first boy in our year to give a girl a proper love bite. Double D we used to call him; he said it stood for Dai Dracula. I was in no position to call him up on it. My own nickname at the time had still been Oliver Twat.

**_Love-Bite_**_  
- Noun. is a temporary bruise or mark caused by kissing, sucking or biting the skin forcefully enough to burst blood vessels beneath the skin._

They typically last from four to twelve days and may be treated in the same way as other bruises.

I'm so hard, it hurts. I clutch at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. He licks a stripe up my neck, and presses his palm against the straining denim. I groan, low and guttural so that it doesn't even sound like me.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, tone solemn, before latching onto my throat once more. I cannot even summon the presence of mind to be insulted. Hands grasp at my hips and we move together, sparks firing behind my closed eyelids with every thrust.

My reactions make me think that right now I am pushing into rating _**5:** Predominantly homosexual, only incidentally heterosexual._

"Oliver? Ol, you down 'ere?"

We pull apart and I squint back down the dimly lit alleyway. Of the many emotions that sweep over me at the sound of the familiar voice, relief is conspicuous by its absence. Dark eyes – suddenly clearer - meet mine, accusing.

"You're not him."  
_  
**Stating the obvious:** The act of pointing out something already well known_.

The yell comes again, bouncing off the grimy walls, "Oliver? Is that you?"

I don't answer and he releases me, wiping his hands against his trouser legs, as if I'd contaminated him somehow. He is clearly not an exhibitionist – that is someone who obtains sexual arousal through sexual behavior in view of third parties.

"Ol!" Harris calls a third time and I peer into the distance, just able to make out his broad shouldered frame. When I look back there is nobody there. No doe eyed junkie with too pale skin and blood stained lips. Nothing but the raging hard on pressing against my zipper and the cold as the saliva on my neck dries in the night air.

The bruises take 11 days to fade. There is no stain on the Turkish rug, no lasting reminder.

I still cannot forget it.


	49. xx

_**A/N: **_**_Written for +fiction_drabbles prompt #39 "windows" over on DreamWidth.  
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The entire place smells dank and musty, the air thick with rot and death. She makes her way over to the heavy curtains, not wanting to see his pale face and lifeless eyes.

"You should let some air in," she tells him, "it's not healthy."

She jumps a little - enough for him to notice - to find nothing but brick wall, and he offers her a sad half smile. Snorts with amusement she can tell he doesn't feel.

"Better safe than sorry, isn't it?"

When she leaves at dawn, it is for the last time. She never looks back.


	50. Chapter 50

_**A/N: **_**_Inspired by a comment made by Robin in werepuppyblack's Chronicle's series; basically that his parents think he's moved away to become a drugs dealer. And, of course, Chloe's line in series one that his parents only want what's best for him, they don't want to see him living on the streets, begging people for money... Lol.__  
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* * *

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"So _this_ is where you're living?" Chloe asked sniffily, her pretty nose upturned as she stepped daintily over a bundle of soiled clothing. Robin shrugged,

"What do you want Chloe?"

He hadn't seen her in months, and then she had been sat in the public gallery, watching as he was sentenced to yet another conditional discharge. He'd probably been a help to her in a way, she'd got to see all the practicalities of the court room. You couldn't learn that from a book.

Chloe shook her head, raking her penetrating gaze over his thin frame and unwashed hair. "You just don't want to be helped, do you?" Her tone was harsh and accusing, "Do you have any idea what you're putting Mum through?"

"_Mum?_" He mocked, pouncing on her anglicised pronunciation. "I'm surprised you 'ave time to notice. Tell me, what does Tarquin think of it all?"

She looked hurt, eyes bright, and he turned away, fixing his attention on the unglazed window instead. It wasn't Chloe's fault, any of it. He should be glad she'd found a way out of Stokely. Should think himself lucky that she cared enough to track him down. He couldn't though, no matter how he tried.

"_Terence_ thinks you're a waste of space. Sometimes I think he's right."

Robin flinched and bit at his lower lip. He didn't want to hear it.

"You still have a home. You don't have to live like this."

"I can't go back," the words were quiet but the force behind them was clear all the same. "Terence is right. I am a waste of space. Tell Mam to just forget about me. Maybe I'll end up on the front page like the rest of them, do everyone a favour."

The colour drained from Chloe's face, her make-up stark against her too pale skin. "You don't mean that, Robin." He didn't answer her and the silence stretched out between them. He glanced down at the newspaper strewing the floor, mysterious disappearances and bodies found drained of blood. He wondered how long it would take before they identified him. If they ever would.

"Fine," Chloe snapped, shattering the quiet around them, time seeming to move once more. She reached into her handbag and took out her purse, removing a handful of notes and holding them out to him. "Take it."

"I don't want your money."

They stared each other down for a long moment, neither willing to give in. Just when he thought he had won, Chloe threw the notes to the ground.

"You know where I am."

She left without him saying another word.

**

* * *

**

It was dark by the time he made a decision, hands clenched into his hair as he looked at the money neatly stacked in front of him. He wanted to change, he did. But it gnawed at him from the inside. A marrow deep ache that never subsided. There was scuffling from the floor below and he snatched the pile into one bony hand, hid it deep within his pocket and clattered down the filthy stairwell.

He was beyond help now.

His fingers shook as he handed the money over, the knowing smirk a sign that he had failed. He had always known he would. He didn't have the willpower. He stumbled into the alcove, slumping gratefully against one algae slick wall as the powder worked its way into his system.

It wasn't that it made him forget. He'd forgotten enough already, great gaping holes in his mind where everything he had been ought to be. It wasn't that it made him remember. Although, sometimes, he felt it wisping around the edges of his consciousness, faces in his periphery vision.

It performed the miracle and made him simply not care about it.

Mam would be disappointed if she could see him, he knew. That was why he had left in the first place. So she wouldn't have to watch what he was doing to himself.

It was better that way.

His vision was swimming in and out of clarity, and at first he thought the noise was in his head. It wasn't though, he could tell. Turned his head until his cheek was resting against the damp roughness of the wall. Squinted into the darkness, trying to focus on the sound.

It took three attempts to get one foot to move in front of the other, limbs languid and slow as he shuffled forward. The sounds were louder now, but muted too. Like he had his head underwater. Maybe he did. The thought made him laugh and the noise stopped, nothing but his own laughter ringing in his head.

"I said, stay back!" The voice was harsh and panicked, and he couldn't tell if it was directed at him or not. The laughter was making his head ache and, when he tried to shake his head to make it stop, the entire world went black.

**

* * *

  
**

"He's too much of a soft touch. If they want to kill, it's not our place to intervene."

"What, and have the slayers on to all of us? He's got the right idea, I reckon. His predecessor wouldn't have stood for it either."

"Aye, but that were different. They wouldn't have dared do it then."

"-It's waking up."

"Should we tell him?"

"You shouldn't have to ask." This voice was different, low and threatening. "Leave now, both of you."

Cool fingers brushed across his forehead and Robin tried to open his eyes. The pain in his skull was awful, his clothes soaked through with sweat. This was why he wasn't supposed to do it. It was always easier to remember now, in the aftermath.

"Shh," the voice soothed, tone utterly changed, "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. You should sleep."

It sounded like a lie, because nothing was ever okay. Not in the memories he still had, at least. But the words kept coming, crooning the same thing over and over, and the cold at his temples took his mind off the never ending ache.

"You should sleep," the voice told him again, at once as familiar as it was foreign.

He did.

* * *

Next time he awoke he was convinced it was night, the room dark and silent. On closer inspection however he could see a strip of daylight beneath the heavy drapes, and the sound of traffic was discernable, an echo from the world outside.

His head was still pounding, and his skin felt slick and clammy. He attempted to sit up and jumped – startled – to find his hand entwined with another's fingers. The stranger's head was resting against the side of the sofa he found himself sprawled upon, soft brown hair framing his ghostly white face.

Junkie, he supposed, how else would they be sharing oxygen like that. The alternative made his chest constrict with fear, although it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. What he'd told Chloe had only been a half lie; he didn't _need_ her money.

He wriggled his fingers experimentally, dismayed at the way the grip tightened further. Blue eyes met his own, bright with recognition his own did not reflect. "Robin?"

Robin ran over the options in his mind. There was nothing threatening in the man's tone but that could change. And there were others, he remembered, dredged from the darkness of the night before.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he soothed, reading more in his face than Robin was comfortable with. "You might not believe it yet, but you can trust me."

That, at least, was something he knew how to answer.

"I can't trust anyone."

The man snorted softly, eyes sad even as a smile tugged at his lips, but at last relinquished his hand.

* * *

The bathroom was sparse and cramped, and the medicine cabinet was empty. The water ran black against the white ceramic and, as the spray beat against his shoulders, he conceded that maybe he needed help more than he wanted to admit.

His muscles were aching from the cramps, and his arms shook when he attempted to wash his hair, but it wasn't as awful as the time before and he wondered if the stranger had given him anything. Then he immediately stopped wondering because, if he had, it would be something more he owed him.

Being in debt was never a good idea, he'd learned the hard way.

There were towels and clean clothes left for him, and unease settled in his stomach. He had nothing to give in return; no money, no score. There were needles littering the coffee table in the living room, and he clutched at his arms to ward off a sudden chill. This wasn't some drop in hostel, taking him in out of the kindness of their bleeding liberal hearts.

The man, Robin realised that he still didn't know his name, trailed after him and swept the mess into a bag, not meeting his eye. "It's not what you think."

"I don't think anything."

He was weighed up then, searching gaze lingering on him until he squirmed uncomfortably. "I would never have done it if I'd known this is what would happen."

The words made no sense, nothing clear except the sincerity behind them. Robin gave him a searching look of his own, deciding that, really, he had nothing more to lose.

"We all make mistakes."

Something passed over the other man's face, regret written all across his oddly delicate features. "But only some of us get the chance to put them right."

* * *

"How's Chloe?" He's asked later, blue eyes fond as he eats like he hasn't for a month. Robin choked mid swallow, coughing and spluttering until a surprisingly forceful hand clapped across his back.

"How do you know Chloe?" Robin couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice. It was one thing for him to be here, to be breaking bread with the enemy – and _everyone_ was the enemy – and signing his life away. He wouldn't drag Chloe into it though. He hadn't been through everything he'd been through to mess up now. "I don't even know who you are."

"You don't, do you?" His tone was soft with disbelief. "I thought-" He pressed a hand across his eyes, no hint of the commanding figure who had had followers grovelling at his feet not twenty minutes previously. "-it doesn't matter what I thought." He held a hand out to him, and Robin saw that it shook slightly. "My name is Vlad."

"Vlad." Robin tried it out, the word feeling strangely comforting in his mouth, although he ignored the outstretched hand. "Vlad."

"You have no idea," Vlad told him, and Robin noticed for the first time he hadn't eaten a thing. "How often I dream of you saying my name."

"Should I know who you are?" He asked finally, half afraid of the answer.

He was given another mirthless smile and Vlad stood in one graceful movement. "I'll be back before dawn."

**

* * *

**

'Vlad,' he murmured under his breath. 'Vlad.' It pulled at something within him, at the dark expanses of nothing where his memories once were. His Mam had taken him to see a dozen doctors and they'd all told him exactly the same thing, there was absolutely nothing they could do.

He remembered, at last, what he'd been told of those lost months. Perhaps he had underestimated its ability to make him forget. Vlad had been his best friend, they had said. Vlad had been his only friend, he had known. It had never seemed fair that they should take a friend from him, not when other people had friends to spare.

He clenched his eyes shut and scrabbled blindly beyond that. Fingers gliding through half formed thoughts as he strained desperately to remember. Blue eyes, he thought, but remembered black. Dark and heated, and the glint of sharp white teeth. His hands clenched into nervous fists at his side and he wondered if he had remembered too much.

When Vlad returned the sky was streaked with the first tinges of pink, and the larger of his lackeys drew the curtains closed with one vicious movement.

"He doesn't know," Vlad said quietly, and dropped a clear bag of powder to the table. At his curious gaze Vlad smiled, "_This_ is definitely not what you think it is."

His head throbbed with the effort of remembering and he was almost certain he had seen something similar before. "When are you going to kill me?" He asked then, without preamble.

The owners of the voices he had heard the first night shared anxious looks, shuffling from foot to foot as they waited for Vlad's reaction.

"What are you waiting for?" Robin demanded impatiently, pressing a hand to his temple in an attempt to stave off the pain. "I know what you are."

Tense silence settled and the shorter of the two had to clear his throat twice before he could get his voice to work. "Your Grandness-"

"I can deal with this."

The taller sniffed, "With all due respect-"

Vlad's eyes flashed – black – and Robin bit back the resultant fear. "I said, I can deal with it."

They scurried from the room, heads bowed, and Robin swallowed thickly.

"How much do you know?" Vlad asked, fingers twisting together.

"Enough."

"Then how can you ask me that?" Vlad's tone was agitated now, and Robin remembered blue eyes filled with tears. "I don't enjoy what I'm doing." Vlad's gaze fell on the bag, brows knitted together, "If they'd follow orders, I wouldn't have to."

"I don't understand," Robin told him, the pain splitting his skull in two.

Vlad was at his side in an instant, fingers tilting his chin up, feathering against his temple until the throbbing receded enough for him to think. "You have nothing to fear from me. None of your kind does. I'm on your side."

Robin touched a hesitant hand to Vlad's cheek, pressing the pad of his thumb into his mouth and against one unnaturally sharp tooth. Vlad shuddered and the comforting touch at his temple strayed, hand winding forcefully into his hair. He scraped the nail carefully along the enamel and Vlad keened, clenching his eyes shut.

When he opened them they were black, just as he had remembered, and Robin smiled.

"Chloe's alright, you know. She says I should go home."

"Do you want to?"

"Do I have to?"

Vlad smiled, the first one Robin had seen reach his eyes, and shook his head.

"I probably shouldn't," Robin told him, linking his hands behind Vlad's neck, "but I do trust you."

"I won't let you down."

"I don't remember," Robin warned, clutching tighter as Vlad pressed an icy kiss to his cheek. "Not like you do."

"It doesn't matter," Vlad reassured, rubbing circles across his temple and touching lips to the corner of his mouth, "you remember enough."

Vlad kissed him then and, for the first time, it really felt like that might be true.


	51. Chapter 51

_**A/N: **_**_Drabble, written as part of the 'five firsts' challenge.__  
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"Vlad," Robin started nervously, biting at his lip and avoiding making eye contact.

"Yeah?" Vlad breathed, doing his best not to let his excitement show.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Vlad clenched his fingernails into his palm in an attempt to keep still. Robin was _finally_ going to say it aloud, Vlad just knew.

"I think -" Robin paused, taking a deep breath.

It was really romantic, Vlad thought happily, to wait until Valentine's Day to tell him. He gave his most encouraging smile and Robin met his eye, expression determined,

"Vlad, I think we should break up."


	52. Chapter 52

_**A/N: **_**_Ficlet, written as part of the 'five firsts' challenge.__  
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"It was only a joke."

Vlad sniffed, glaring up at Robin over his copy of _Vampirism Today_. If Robin thought he was going to forgive him, just like that, then he had another thing coming. "I didn't think it was very funny."

"Okay," Robin conceded, "Maybe," he raised a finger to stave off Vlad's protests, "_maybe_ it was a bit… misguided. But, I am sorry. Honest." Vlad carried on reading, determinedly resisting the urge to give in and make Robin promise that they never quarrel again.

Robin sat still for a few moments before trying again. "Come on, Vlad," there was a definite hint of a whine now. "How many more times do I 'ave to apologise!?"

"You shouldn't have done it in the first place."

"I know what this is really about," Robin nodded, looking very sure of himself. Vlad clung stiffly to the newspaper, trying to look disinterested. Robin continued, "This is cos I went to Delila's party, isn't it?"

"_No_," Vlad bit out, and glared unseeingly at an article on a Trans-Siberian Count who had married his favourite goat. "It's not. _Actually._"

"Yeah, it is," Robin told him bluntly. "You always get like this when you're jealous." He looked at him pointedly, "Your fangs are down an' everything."

He dropped the newspaper, pressing a hand to his mouth to see if it was true. It was. "I wasn't jealous," he mumbled, fingers prodding at his teeth. Wrenching his hand away he amended, "I'm _not_ jealous."

Robin raised an incredulous eyebrow and sprawled back against Vlad's bed, propping himself up on his elbows. Vlad thought it was really unfair for Robin to present him with sights like that when he was trying to be angry with him. When it became obvious Robin wasn't buying his lies, he said,

"I just don't like you hanging around with your ex-girlfriends."

"You went out with her too!"

Vlad grimaced. "Yeah, well, you went out with her twice. And," he pulled a face, "you did _stuff_ with her."

"See, you are jealous."

Vlad scowled harder and Robin, for once, had the good grace to look chastised. "Aw, Vlad, don't sulk _all_ the time." He pushed himself up, scooting down the bed until they were sat almost nose to nose,

"For the last time, I'm really really sorry. An' I promise never to attend parties with girls I've had carnal knowledge of," Vlad shot him a dirty look but he carried on regardless, "ever again. Unless you come with me. Cross my heart an' hope to die." He gave Vlad a crooked grin, "by vampire bite. So," he took Vlad's hand, "do you forgive me now?"

Vlad heaved the most put upon sigh he could manage. "I _suppose_." Robin smiled at him then, bright and happy, and Vlad shifted closer, letting Robin wrap an arm round him. "You don't deserve me, you know that."

"I know," Robin told him solemnly, still beaming all over his face, "but I just 'ave to make do."


	53. Chapter 53

_**A/N: **_**_Written for +fiction_drabbles prompt #40, "sick". __  
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"Robin?" Vlad starts, hesitant. The images on the page have left him feeling sick and shaken.

"Mmm?" Robin doesn't look up, too engrossed in his sketch book, the side of his hand black with graphite. Vlad swallows and forces himself to speak,

"What is _this_?"

He can't bring himself to elaborate further; Robin's wide-eyed shock tells him that he doesn't need to.

"It's not what it looks like, Vlad."

"Really?" Vlad accuses, wishing Robin weren't so accomplished an artist, "Because it looks like my Dad and Mr. Van Helsing doing-" He flusters, "_it_"

For once, Robin doesn't have a comeback.


	54. Chapter 54

_**A/N: **_**_Written for +slashthedrabble prompt #239, "air". __  
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"Robin, _wake up!_" Vlad begs, brushing back sodden hair, ignoring the splash of tears against too pale skin. "_Please._"

Still silence is his only response and Vlad tries to remember what he'd been taught, back when it had only mattered because he wanted another embroidered badge to prove he was human.

The effort of exhaling burns like fire in his chest, the ache of muscles long unused as he forces air past the very first touch of their lips. Later, admitting defeat, he sobs helplessly into the icy skin of Robin's neck.

He'd kept a promise.

And lost a friend.


	55. Chapter 55

_**A/N: **_**_Written for +slashthedrabble prompt #240, "jump". __  
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"I love you more than anything," she hears Vlad assure, even through the castle walls. "I'd never look at anyone else."

It makes her feel sick to the stomach. To hear the misplaced adoration in his voice, see the pathetic reverence on his face. To think that the future of the vampire race is in his hands.

Branagh doesn't feel the same way, she knows. Can tell from the lingering glances he casts her way, and the hammering of his heart whenever she meets his eye. If she tells him to jump, she's certain, his only question would be 'how high?'

She drags it out, waits until Branagh comes to her. Vlad has the crown and the title, and she isn't stupid. But, not even the mention of Vlad's name sends him packing, and she can't help but smirk cruelly as he desperately tries to impress.

It's better than she thought it would be, fingers trailing fire across her icy skin until she can almost believe she's alive. She thinks, for the first time, that she can understand what 'His Grandness' sees in him.

Later, Vlad asks why. She stares into his red rimmed eyes and shrugs,

"Because I could."


	56. Chapter 56

Vlad thinks that being a vampire is really not so bad when you sit down and look at it objectively. You've always got a conversation starter and, now they keep Tesco open 24/7 and everything, it's not even like there's nothing to do but sit around in your coffin and contemplate ritual suicide just to add a bit of drama to your unlife.

The problem is, he argues back – silently, because he doesn't want to freak Robin out by talking to himself – is that he can't look at it objectively. Because, in all the ways that matter, being a vampire really _really_ sucks.

Take tonight, for instance.

Robin, who has been preening in front of his bedroom mirror for the better part of two hours, is going to go out with all his new university friends, get drunk, possibly have unprotected sex with a girl whose name he won't be able to remember in the morning, and then ring him up to tell him all about it.

Vlad can do none of these things.

Firstly, he has no reflection; which makes getting ready ten times more difficult than it ought to be. The vampires he's met at councils could never be described as friends, even by the loosest definition. And the only other people he meets are slayers who invariably want to drive a stake through him.

This stake being very much of the non-euphemismistic kind.

And, he bitterly adds to his mental list, were he to have unprotected sex with a girl – which he doesn't think he would because a) he doesn't really like girls very much in _that way_, and b) it's morally objectionable. Coupled with the fact that he wouldn't really know what he was doing because he's been sort of hoping that one day soon Robin will want to show him – it might result in a baby.

Which would be bad because it's not like when it happened to Great Uncle Armand in 1722, now they have machines that can tell they're not normal, and don't have properly developed lungs, and scarcely any haemoglobin, and all sorts of other medical things he doesn't understand.

"You should come," Robin tells him, breaking through his disjointed thoughts, "you can meet all my friends." Robin looks up at him then, all big brown eyes and crooked grin, and Vlad has to concentrate on the university fire action plan pinned to Robin's notice board, so his best friend can't see the effect he has on him. And to hide how jealous he is of the fact Robin has new friends.

Last year Robin didn't make any and, as selfish and horrid as it makes him sound, Vlad was glad.

"I can't," Vlad fidgets restlessly. "It's too dangerous." He finally manages to make eye contact with Robin, although not before raking his treacherous gaze up Robin's long denim clad legs and broad shoulders, and says, "What if I can't control myself when I'm in there? What if I bite someone?"

Robin grins and responds with his usual, "But you know how much I want you to sink your teeth into my succulent flesh," but Vlad can see the understanding in his expressive eyes.

It had been Robin's eyes that had first made him realise that the restless feeling he could never shift was love. Well, sort of. He had read in a magazine – and not one he had bought himself because he did have some taste – that when you loved someone you just wanted to be near them all the time. To stare deep into their eyes and share a 'connection' meant for just you and them.

He had tried it out on Robin during double physics, gazing at him over their incompetently connected circuit board – if he had sat an exam, Vlad thinks, he would have definitely failed – and been convinced that the magazine was right. It made him feel all sort of jittery inside, like when they did the experiment with static electricity, and wish that he could tell Robin about the discovery.

Robin had just stared at him like he was insane.

"You will be careful tonight, won't you?" Vlad asks, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop himself. He doesn't know what he'd do if something bad were to happen to Robin. Not when he isn't there to protect him from it.

"I'm a big boy now, Vlad," Robin scoffs, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders a little. "I can look after myself."

That only worries him more. Once Robin walked into a door and broke his nose. It hadn't even been a see through door, like the conservatory he'd seen at Delila's house on the sole occasion he'd been invited there. Vlad thinks that, once Robin's been drinking and smoking weed and taking whatever else it is that art students take, he's only going to be less capable of looking after himself.

"I know," he says, tone placating because he doesn't want to argue with Robin, "but I worry about you."

Robin shifts uncomfortably, in the way Vlad has learned means he's being too openly emotional or sentimental, before coughing to hide the awkward silence.

"I suppose I should get going," Vlad says reluctantly, thinking about how much he'd rather stay in Robin's room all night. Until it got so light he'd have to stay there all day too. "Lots of work to do."

"Vlad," Robin says, and it sounds like more of a sigh. Fond frustration, he thinks after a moment's deliberation. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Vlad shrugs, although he knows. They've had this discussion before. Enough times that he ought to know every argument by heart. In truth, he does, but he likes to hear Robin repeat them all the same. Everything sounds better when Robin says it. Except Romanian because, no matter how hard Robin tries, it still sounds like unintelligible garble.

Not that he cares.

Robin pushes a pile of clothing and stationary and what seems like half of his possessions from the bed to sit next to him, entwining their hands with a determined expression. "I'm not going to do anything. I wouldn't."

"Promise?"

Robin shakes his head, like he can't believe he has to say it again, but Vlad knows he'll humour him anyway. He always does. There's a press of a kiss to his cheek, and Vlad feels his chest constrict like his unbeating heart is attempting to kick start, and then Robin slides one hand into his hair and smiles like he couldn't be happier. Not even if the twins got amnesia and everyone finally gave in and let him sleep in a coffin every night, not just on special occasions.

_"Promise."_


	57. Chapter 57

"Aw, look at that!" Robin pointed at the brochure excitedly, his outright refusal to take part in the scheme seemingly forgotten. "She is _fit_."

Vlad scowled at the bronzed figure, the scant few inches of material she had seen fit to wear barely covering anything. "Yeah, well, we're not going there." He placed the brochure he'd been looking at down on top of it, "I was thinking something more like this."

Robin looked at first the picture of children building sandcastles, a donkey in a hat filling the background, then at him in disbelief. "Is your name Graham Branagh? We ain't going to Margate."

"Why not?" Vlad peered at it closely, "It's got a beach."

"You said you wanted to go somewhere sunny?" Robin said, tone persuasive, "Cos it's your last chance, right?"

Reluctantly, Vlad nodded. He didn't like where this was going.

"Well, it won't be sunny there, will it? Ah," he held out a hand to stop Vlad's protests, "It'll rain all summer, you've seen the news. But," he gestured at the brochure he'd been leering at again, "If we go _there_, it'll be guaranteed to be sunny." He raised an eyebrow and Vlad looked away in the hope of being able to think more clearly,

"Your parents will never let you go to Spain with just me."

Robin grinned, "You leave them to me."

* * *

"I didn't know you had family in Spain, Vlad," Mrs. Branagh said a few days later as she handed him a plate full of steak and kidney pie. "It's lovely of them to invite you and Robin to stay with them for a few days."

Robin grinned at him, giving him a thumbs up behind his mum's back and Vlad felt his stomach sink. Aloud he managed, "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"It'll do you both good," Mr. Branagh said, picking up his cutlery, "the pair of you could do with getting some sun. I keep mistaking Robin for a ghost when he's wandering about at night."

Paul waggled his fingers in the air and made a ghost noise at this. Ian sniggered appreciatively.

Robin scowled at all three of them, "Girls like the pale an' interesting look."

"That's why they're all lining up to 'ave a crack at you, is it?" Ian asked round a mouthful of food.

"The only thing girls like about you," Paul went on, "is when you go away."

Ian grinned and nodded.

"Boys," Mrs. Branagh scolded, sitting down, "Robin's just a late starter." She smiled at him encouragingly, "Isn't that right, Robin?"

Robin glowered into his food and murmured, just loud enough for Vlad's enhanced hearing to pick up, "I hate you all."

It was going to be a long summer.

**

* * *

**

"Dad," Vlad started awkwardly, not sure how he was going to take it, "I was thinking of going away for a few days. On holiday."

"Holiday?" The Count grimaced, "Transylvania is terrible at this time of year. The stench of breather sweat everywhere you turn."

"I, er, wasn't planning on going to Transylvania."

"No?" The Count raised an eyebrow curiously before adopting a pained expression, "You've not fallen for some sloven of a girl from Trans-Siberia, have you? I won't have goats wandering around my castle."

"Me and Robin," he started, not getting any further before Ingrid cut him off,

"Don't tell me," she said, tone mocking, even as she worked at sharpening the knife she was currently holding, "you want to whisk Branagh off to Paris and confess your undying love."

Vlad glared at her. Robin would hate that; his usual response to the subject of France being a frowned, 'What's the point of it? Everyone speaks French.'

"Ingrid," the Count whined, "your brother is not a breather lover."

Ingrid raised one eyebrow, looking pointedly at the mountain of ironing Renfield had yet to get round to. On the top of the pile was a T-shirt emblazoned with 'I love breathers'.

"Yes," the Count hissed, looking put out, "well, I'm sure he only wants to take Branagh as a snack for the journey." His tone sounded hopeful even to Vlad's ears.

"_Yeah_," Vlad said sarcastically. "So can I go?"

"What?" The Count asked, obviously distracted by the increasing volume of Renfield's fearful begging from the other side of the room, Ingrid readying the knife's aim, a wobbly X chalked just above his head, "Yes, yes, carry on."

"Aw, yes!" Vlad grinned. His triumph was shortlived as Renfield howled in pain, Vlad scrunched up his face in sympathy at the sight of where _exactly_ the knife had struck.

"You missed!" The Count crowed in glee.

Ingrid turned to face them both, smirking,

"I didn't."

**

* * *

**

"You'll ring us when you get there?" Mrs. Branagh said anxiously, fussing with Robin's collar.

"Yes," Robin whined, rolling his eyes.

"And you'll wear sunscreen?" Mr. Branagh said, checking over their flight tickets again.

"_Yes_."

"And you'll do as Vlad's auntie and uncle say?" Mrs. Branagh went on, attempting to pet at Robin's hair before he jerked away. Vlad looked at the floor guiltily; he might know plenty of people in Spain but none of them were the kindly – breathing - relatives Mrs. Branagh was doubtless picturing.

"_Yes!_" Robin scowled, "Are you going yet or what?"

Mrs. Branagh hugged him and kissed his cheek despite his squirming and protesting, before doing the same to Vlad who just let her, quite liking the mollycoddling. Mr. Branagh looked awkward for a moment before handing them their tickets and hugging Robin as well, then, embarrassed got out his car keys and led his wife to the airport car park.

Robin waited all of four seconds before turning to Vlad and grinning widely, "This," he gestured towards the check-in gate with his passport, "is going to be so awesome!"

**

* * *

**

"I'm Robin," Robin grinned, telling the girl who was sat on the end of their row. Vlad scowled and slouched further into his seat. They hadn't even left the runway yet and Robin was already trying to chat some stupid girl up. "I like your hair."

"Yeah, great," the girl sneered, putting earphones in, "talk to me again and I'll get you moved."

Robin turned back to Vlad, shrugging, "She must be a lesbian."

Vlad hid his face in one hand in embarrassment. Robin was, as usual, oblivious.

"It's so cool how you got this arranged," he went on, pulling open a packet of sweets and starting to eat, "you're like a vampire celebrity or something."

"_Robin_," he hissed, "keep your voice down!" The rest of the outbound flight to Majorca did not need to know about his status as the Grand High Vampire.

"_What_ is your problem?" Robin huffed, shaking his head and putting his own earphones in.

Vlad just sighed.

It was going to be a _really_ long summer.

**

* * *

**

Meanwhile…

"Dad," Jonno hissed, pushing his way up the narrow gangway and dropping into his designated seat, "Can you _please_ just try to act like a normal dad. Just for once?"

"Jonno," Van Helsing soothed, shooting an apologetic smile at his neighbour as he too slid into his seat, "What do I keep telling you? A slayer must be forever on his guard."

"There are no such things as slayers!" Jonno protested. "No vampires, no ghosts, no aliens; they're all just made up. But do you know what there are?" Jonno glowered at his Dad, "Terrorists."

Van Helsing shifted uncomfortably.

"Would you like to tell me, Sir," Jonno mimicked the deep tones of the airport security guard, "why your suitcase is full of offensive weaponry?"

"I might," Van Helsing grimaced, "have gone a little overboard with the stakes. Still," he winced harder, shifting restlessly, "I've learned my lesson there, believe you me."

Jonno just shook his head, glancing up as the air hostess began her safety demonstration. "I just want to go on a normal holiday, like a normal family. Is it too much to ask?"

There was no answer.

**

* * *

**

"So I was thinking we could get the bus and go see these old ruins," Vlad started, holding out the tourist guide he'd brought along. Robin eyed him up as if he were completely deranged,

"Vlad, we're on holiday." He gestured towards the window, "There are loads of fit girls down there just waiting for some handsome young man," he pointed at himself, grinning widely, "i.e. me, to sweep them off their feet."

"Yeah, well they'll be waiting a long while yet," Vlad murmured sullenly, watching as Robin gathered together towels, sunscreen and money.

"Later on, can we go an' meet your vampire friends properly?"

"They're not my _friends_," Vlad grimaced. "They think it's an honour to cater for the 'Grand High Vampire' and his breather _pet_." He stressed the last, hoping it stung. Robin seemed entirely oblivious.

"Aw, they looked so cool last night Vlad." He shook his head in remembered awe. "But," he dumped the stuff into Vlad's arms for him to carry, "for now, let's go pull some girls."

**

* * *

**

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Van Helsing motioned for him to keep back, so they were both half hidden behind a tree, looking out onto the pool area.

"The bar guy's looking over. They'll think you're some kind of pervert."

"I'm just making sure we're clear of the enemy."

"There's a load of Germans over there," Jonno inclined his head, looking over at a group of leggy blondes with wistful eyes. When there was no response he said, "Alright, alright. Bad joke, I know."

Van Helsing just gripped his shoulder tightly. "They're here, Jonno. They're _here_."

"Who are here?" Jonno asked. "The little green men come to take you back home to the planet of the nutters?"

"No, it's him." Van Helsing gestured an arm out and Jonno followed it until his gaze fell on enough brilliantly white skin to blind a man. He groaned.

Vlad Count.

**

* * *

**

"She's looking at me."

"She's glaring at you," Vlad amended.

"Aye, well, it's the same thing, isn't it?"

Vlad just shook his head and watched as Robin squirmed more completely into the shade of the sun umbrella.

"What?" Robin snapped, "I don't want to get a tan."

An idea formed. A brilliant 'why didn't I think of it before' sort of idea. "Robin," he started casually, "when was the last time you put some sun cream on?"

"I dunno, before we came down?"

Vlad grinned. "You know you should put some on every two hours? Your Mum said I should make sure you did."

"I think I know how often you should apply sun cream," Robin said with an air of superiority, "I've not been sunburnt since I was eight."

Vlad grabbed the bottle, heart hammering in anticipation, "I'll put some on for you then. Sit up."

"Don't you think we'll look a bit," Robin glanced back over at the girls; they scowled back, "gay?"

"Of course not," Vlad lied easily. When Robin still didn't move, he went on, "I think your shoulders are starting to look a bit red." Robin moved quicker than he'd ever seen him, sitting up to give Vlad access. Vlad swallowed, touching tentative fingers to the heated skin of Robin's back.

He'd never had an opportunity to touch Robin before. Now he knew what it felt like he was going to make up excuses whenever he got the chance. By the time Robin lolled his head forward to let him smear cream across the back of his neck Vlad was certain it had been the best ten minutes of his life.

Robin moved away then, turning round to face him and he battled to keep the disappointment off his face. Robin smiled at him lazily, taking the bottle from him,

"Turn round then, my arms aren't that long."

**

* * *

**

By evening Robin was beginning to accept that the girls he'd been staring longingly over at all day just weren't interested. "You sure you can't use your vampire powers on them?" He asked, for what had to be the twelfth time.

Vlad sighed, "Yes, I'm sure." Robin sighed despondently, slumping back onto the sun lounger,

"Can we go an' see these vampires instead then?"

"I don't think it's a good idea," Vlad told him, doing his best to avoid Robin's pleading gaze. He was too liable to cave in at the first sight of those big brown eyes. "Like I told you earlier, they think you're my," he hesitated before saying it anyway, "_pet._"

"I can pretend," Robin enthused, sitting up again, the earlier excitement at the prospect of meeting yet more vampires back full force.

Vlad shook his head incredulously, "Do you even have any idea what it means?" Robin shrugged, confirming his suspicions, and Vlad battled with his conscience over his next course of action. After a long moment he decided that if Robin didn't like it when they got there, well, it would serve him right.

**

* * *

**

"They're probably just going to get some food," Jonno complained, fed up of tracking Vlad and Robin all across town. This wasn't the holiday he'd envisioned. His dad nodded seriously,

"Exactly. A _bite_ to eat. It's a good job we were here, Jonno."

Jonno didn't trust himself to answer civilly, so kept his mouth shut.

**xXx**

Vlad rapped at the door carefully, using the code he'd been shown the night before. Robin was tugging at the collar of his T-shirt insistently and asking, "Do you think I've caught the sun?" Before he could answer the door was pulled open and Vlad swallowed thickly at the change in both temperature and atmosphere.

Suddenly this didn't seem anywhere near as good an idea.

"Your Grandness," a pretty vampiress with heavily kohled eyes bowed low before him and Vlad shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He felt like an idiot. Behind him Robin had his chin tilted up, gaze fixed on the elaborately painted ceiling,

"Awesome!"

The vampiress raised an eyebrow. "I see your," she hesitated, distaste evident, "companion has not been marked." Vlad looked hurriedly to the unblemished skin of Robin's neck and bit at his lip.

"I was, uh, saving it for later." He nodded hopefully, "Yeah." The tall dark haired vampire stood behind her stared down at him haughtily and Vlad took an instinctive step closer to Robin, wishing he could curl their hands together. Robin didn't seem at all concerned,

"Where's the crypt in 'ere then?"

With matching toothy grins the vampires led them down a narrow flight of stairs and Vlad threw caution to the wind, touching one hand to Robin's shoulder and refusing to let go. If Robin asked, he'd say it was part of the act. If he didn't, well, Vlad thought he might try and work up the courage to do it again sometime.

The stairwell led out into a large dark room, the air cold enough to raise gooseflesh on their arms. Robin took in the caskets knowledgeably, and would have gone for a closer look if Vlad hadn't tightened his hold on his shoulder, moving his arm to slide it around Robin's waist.

He was still distracted by Robin's wide eyed look of shock when the lid of one of the coffins opened, clattering to the floor with enough noise to make Vlad jump and dig his fingers into Robin's side. A broad shouldered vampire emerged gracefully from its resting place, slicking tongue over sharpened fang and smirking cruelly at them.

"Your Grandness," he smiled, sending shivers of fear through Vlad, "I cannot begin to tell you how much I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance."

"Vlad?" Robin whispered, clinging back to him with force, "I don't like this." They took a step back, only to find the cool press of the stone wall behind them and Vlad shook his head,

"Me neither."

**

* * *

**

"There was cabaret tonight," Jonno told his father bitterly. "We could have been watching it. But what are we doing?" He glared, "Sat outside in the cold waiting for Count and Branagh to finish their dinner."

Van Helsing pulled a face and motioned for him to keep quiet, to which Jonno just scowled harder. "And, speaking of dinner, we haven't had any of that yet either."

"Shhh!"

Just as Jonno was about to protest again there was a scream, and then another. The Van Helsings exchanged a glance before launching into action, Van Helsing hammering his shoulder against the door in an effort to break it down. Jonno rooted through his pockets for a moment before producing a skeleton key and sliding it into the lock.

**

* * *

**

"Why don't we just talk about this?" Vlad tried, sweat beading across his brow as the stake was pushed harder into his chest. "Or not!" He squeaked. "It's totally up to you."

"Silence!" Vlad shut his jaw with an audible snap. The vampires from earlier stepped forward and she was given hold of the stake, the tip still pressed painfully into his ribcage. "Don't worry," the ringleader told him, "We're not going to kill you yet." He grabbed a handful of Robin's shirt and pulled, forcing Vlad to release his grip. "Not when we have such a fresh breather to play with."

Vlad struggled against his captor, until the press of the stake forced him to keep still. Robin was shooting him a look of terror and Vlad felt a sweeping wave of inappropriate self-righteousness wash over him. Now was _not_ the time to tell Robin, I told you so!

The elder vampire roughly yanked Robin's head to the side by his hair, running his nose along the column of Robin's exposed throat. Vlad could see the glint of fang and tried desperately to think of a way out of the situation. Robin was visibly trembling, and the vampire hesitated, the points of his sharpened teeth barely scraping skin. Instead of biting he took a moment to smirk at Vlad, "I bet you've dreamt of doing this, haven't you?"

Vlad wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer and, the next second, it became a moot point with the noisy clatter of feet coming down the staircase. Vlad thought he had never been so glad to see a Van Helsing in his entire life. The vampiress holding his hissed, and the word 'slayers' was muttered around the room.

"Unhand him," demanded Van Helsing, "or prepare to feel a whole dimension of pain."

"World," Jonno shook his head, "It's world, dad."

"World of pain," Van Helsing corrected.

The vampires looked one to the other, unsure what to make of these unlikely slayers. Van Helsing chose that moment to wave his stake about, and yell, "I said, unhand him."

In an instant they had disappeared, Robin being dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Vlad rushed to his side, helping him to his feet, and touching fingers to his throat for reassurance that he hadn't been bitten. Van Helsing coughed then, and Vlad turned reluctantly, "You just saved our lives. Thanks."

"Speak for yourself!" Robin cut in, dusting his clothes off and looking more his usual self, "We were just about to get to the good bit."

"Robin!" Vlad scowled. Jonno glanced around the room in distaste, clearly struggling to take it all in, before finally peering at his watch.

"Come on, if we go now, we'll still make it in time for the final act."

"Can't wait," Robin said dryly, but followed them upstairs obediently all the same. Outside in the cool night air, it was hard to believe they'd just been moments away from death. In fact, Vlad thought he wouldn't believe it were it not for the desperate fear still lingering in his chest. Their arms brushed as they walked, Van Helsing's triumphant murmurings putting Vlad further on edge.

This respite from trying to kill him would doubtless be short lived.

They were almost back when he dared a quick glance at Robin's face. The bridge of his nose was red from the sun, and there was a bright flush to his cheeks. Vlad deliberated for long moments, too long, because then they were there and the moment was gone.

**

* * *

**

Later, back in the room they were sharing, Vlad caught Robin staring at him intensely. "What's wrong?" He asked, frowning, scared it might be something serious. Impatient at the prospect of him wanting something annoying, like for him to go and liberate that spider from the bathroom.

Robin looked away and spoke quietly, "I wasn't scared earlier – seriously," he met his eye to show his sincerity, "I wasn't. It – it felt…" Robin blushed harder and Vlad suddenly had an insight into what Robin might be trying to tell him. "It felt really good," Robin managed at last, fixing him with a plaintive look,

"Except for one thing."

Vlad, barely daring to breathe, sat next to him, the scent of sun cream and chlorine thick in the air. "Yeah?"

Robin touched his hand to Vlad's gingerly, expression somewhere between hopeful and outright terror,

_"I wished the vampire doing it was you."_


	58. Chapter 58

_**A/N: Written for slashthedrabble prompt #241 ~ "Test"**_

* * *

"And you're _sure_ this is a good idea?" Vlad looked at first the card and then Chloe sceptically. She smiled brightly,

"Of course it is. _I_ thought of it." She shrugged lightly, dismissively Vlad thought bitterly – it wasn't _her_ life that would get messed up if it didn't work – and went on, "Trust me, he'll love it."

Vlad chose to ignore the muttering about Robin's vanity that followed and dug into his pocket for some spare change. If it went wrong, he decided as he handed his cash over to the disinterested girl representing the Valentine's committee, it was Chloe's fault.

**xXx**

"Are you worried about this test?" Robin asked him a few days later, hauling his backpack higher over one shoulder. "Don't be. It's only a mock." Robin grinned, "I 'aven't even bothered to revise."

Vlad managed a strained smile, letting the 'why doesn't that surprise me?' remain unsaid. They were both going to fail this maths test, no matter what. Robin because he never did any work, him because he was too nervous to think about anything other than the look on Robin's face when he realised how he felt.

How he'd been feeling for months.

"Come on, cheer up," Robin nudged him playfully with one bony elbow, hard enough to bruise, and he forced another smile, "It might never 'appen!"

**xXx**

He was busy failing his third attempt at the quadratic equations when a knock at the classroom door made his heart stop short in his chest. Mr. Griffiths, glowering at the would-be interruption under his bushy eyebrows, huffed up from his desk and Vlad had to put his pen down, pressing his suddenly sweaty palms against the tabletop.

"Do you mind if we give these out, Sir?" Paul Branagh asked cheerfully, waving a cellophane clad rose about and grinning pointedly at Vlad.

He wanted to be sick.

Griffiths was not impressed with the display of holiday cheer. "I certainly _do_ mind, Branagh." Paul frowned in confusion and Griffiths elaborated, "Take a look around you. Are these the faces of children who can afford to be interrupted so close to exams?"

Robin scowled and Gary Miller, the resident maths genius, opened his mouth to protest but Paul got in first,

"Aw, Sir, come on. It's for charity."

Griffiths sneered, but took the bag all the same and had the door shut in Paul's face before he had chance to complain. Vlad held his breath, heart pounding an irregular pattern against his ribcage until Griffiths returned to his desk and dumped the bag into the waste paper basket.

"If any of you have a problem," he ground out over the groans of discontent, "I suggest you take it up with your head of year."

**xXx**

"I can't believe he did that!" Robin exclaimed at lunch, crunching agitatedly on the carrot sticks Mrs. Branagh had replaced his customary Mars bar with. Chloe shot Vlad a sympathetic smile and patted his arm with the air of a patronising aunt,

"Better luck next time."


	59. Chapter 59

_**A/N: Written for slashthedrabble prompt #242 ~ "Cut"**_

* * *

"_What_," Vlad asks, and Robin can't help but smirk at the shake in his voice, "are you doing?" He concentrates on pressing the edge of the blade into the skin of his wrist, biting at his lip as the blood wells, red and slick.

"We've talked about this, Vlad," he scolds lightly, "Don't keep asking stupid questions."

There's no answer, and when Robin glances up it's to find Vlad inches from his face, eyes black and expression pained with the effort of restraining himself. The sight makes his pulse skip faster in excitement, breath coming short and shallow as the moment stretches on and on between them.

And, then, it's broken. The knife falling from his grip even as the desperate noise torn from the back of Vlad's throat hangs heavily in the air.

Vlad's fingers are icy cold against his overheated skin, his movements clumsy with want as he brings Robin's wrist to his mouth. Robin watches as Vlad's eyelashes flutter against his pale cheek, the look of bliss on his face and the smudging of his blood across his lips.

Robin doesn't know if it's blood loss or wish fulfilment but, by the time Vlad has drunk his fill, it's only the other boy's hold keeping him on his feet.

"That was such a stupid thing to do," Vlad murmurs in his ear, clutching him to his chest as he helps him sit, running one hand across his back. "I could have killed you."

"Vlad," Robin yawns, rubbing his wrist against one denim clad thigh, the itch keeping him from sleep, "'Ow many more times? Only one of us is stupid."

The words are slurred and Vlad smiles, presses a kiss into Robin's dishevelled hair. Too sated to really worry about what has just happened.

"Whatever you say."


	60. Chapter 60

_**A/N: Written for fictiondrabbles prompt #243 ~ "Winter"**_

* * *

"Batman and Robin?" Vlad suggested, thinking of the perfectly adaptable cape Great Uncle Armand had sent him the previous Christmas.

"I'm not being the sidekick," Robin told him sulkily, folding his arms across his chest. "Especially not to you."

Vlad bit at the inside of his lip, reminding himself that he _wanted_ Robin to forgive him for wiping his mind clean. "I never said you would be."

Robin smiled then, malicious around the edges. "Good. 'Cos your pasty white legs?" He grinned still wider, and Vlad didn't think he was meant to like where this was going,

"Made for shorts."


	61. Chapter 61

**_Inspired by 'Valentine's Day' (the film!). It made me realise that I hadn't written one of the biggest cliches out there. 'My best friend's getting married... I want it to be to me.' The situation has now been rectified. I kind of want to write it from the other POV some time which is why some stuff might seem to remain unexplained._**

* * *

"Vlad," Robin started tentatively, big brown eyes fixed on his face, "There's something I need to ask you."

If it could, Vlad was sure; his heart would be pounding with anticipation in his chest, his breath catching in his throat with excitement. The scene was playing out so close to his sappy daydreams - the ones that made it hurt to look at Robin and know he couldn't reach out and touch him - he could barely stand it.

Even back when they had both been at school together, before he had really understood what it had meant, he had used to sit in double physics and stare at Robin. Imagine those dark eyes gazing up at him as he asked the question, like something out of the films Mrs. Branagh used to watch in the afternoons when he went round for tea.

Robin was fidgeting now, the fear that he was going to say no, going to turn him down, written clear in his every movement.

"Will – " Robin sucked in a fortifying breath and Vlad flexed the fingers of his right hand agitatedly, determined not to make an idiot of himself once the request was finally out in the open. He managed a half smile for Robin and got a tight nod, a sign of decision, in return.

"Vlad, will you be my best man?"

**  
xXx**

Silence stretched between them as Vlad tried to force sound past the ache in his throat. This was definitely not how things had played out in double physics. Robin, in an obvious attempt to cover his own awkwardness, started babbling.

"I know it might seem a bit quick but Darren, you know, her cousin? He's been found guilty and all the church and everything was already booked. Lorena said it would be stupid to let it go to waste. Don't you think so, Vlad? _Vlad_?"

"Yeah." Vlad nodded, wincing at the strain in his voice. "Yeah."

It had been bad enough when Robin had told him he was going to ask her to marry him. Had described in excited detail how he was going to do it, and how much the ring had cost, and how desperately he wanted her to say yes. The only thing Vlad ever wanted to do when Lorena was in the vicinity was latch on to her jugular.

But, at least he'd been able to tell himself it might never happen then. That even if she said yes, it didn't mean they'd actually go through with it.

Robin pressed the issue, oblivious to the way it was churning him up, "Is that, yes it would be stupid to waste money, or yes, you're going to my best man? It's not for two months; you'll be on Council recess by then."

"Two months?" Vlad repeated, proud that the burgeoning hysteria was kept to the outside edges.

"Yeah, November 1st." Robin grinned, "The day of the dead. How cool is that?" More seriously, he went on, "You were my first choice. I wouldn't ask anyone else."

The last hit home, Vlad forced a smile. He should be happy for Robin. He could pretend to be happy for Robin.

"Of course I will. Someone's got to make sure everyone knows about all the embarrassing stuff you've done. Does she know you used to wear a cape to school?"

"You wouldn't dare!" Robin scowled.

"Wouldn't I?" Vlad took comfort in the way Robin glared harder, all the while knowing the truth.

He totally wouldn't.

**xXx**

"Branagh's getting married," Ingrid stated the instant he entered the main hall.

"You're still eavesdropping," Vlad retorted, not really in the mood to talk about it. He got the feeling he never would be.

Ingrid shrugged dismissively. "What are you going to do about it?" She smirked, "Apart from sob into your shroud like the pathetic waste of space you are?" Vlad swiped at his eyes as casually as he could, suddenly aware of how he must look. Not being able to see his own reflection lulled him into a false sense of security.

"Best man!" The Count exclaimed from his throne. "I remember the last time I was asked to be best man. For your Uncle Ivan. I had an excellent time, toasting the bride, draining the bridesmaids."

Vlad pulled a face. "I'm not going to bite _Chloe_."

The Count looked surprised, "Suit yourself. I've always been a believer in tradition myself."

"Are you going to write a speech?" Ingrid asked eagerly, obviously fighting back laughter. "My vote goes to that poem you wrote him, how did it go?"

"You're not funny." Vlad told her coldly, thinking of the time he'd spent on it. Just because it had been terrible hadn't made it any easier to deal with the fact Robin had convinced the card had been from Ashleigh Braithwaite in the year above. Hadn't even considered that it might have been from _him._

Ingrid ignored him, "You break my heart, when you act like you don't care –"

"I actually have a race to govern," Vlad cut her off, snatching his Council robes from the top of Renfield's ironing pile and hauling them over his head. He could rock the rumpled look.

"I just want you to know that, no matter what, I'm always going to be there."

Vlad fumed all the way to Transylvania.

**xXx**

"Just dump it down over there," Robin gestured at the already teetering pile of boxes stacked in the corner of the room. "I'll sort it out later."

Vlad looked around the room, stopping himself just in time from sneering at the sight of the framed picture of Robin and the bride to be, all long dark hair and darker make-up contrasting against her milky pale skin. Exactly the kind of girl Robin had always wanted.

"I can't believe this is really happening," Robin said then, following his gaze, "I didn't think we'd be able to afford it for years."

"Nor me," Vlad agreed, knowing Robin wouldn't pick up on the bitter undertone. He never did.

To his surprise Robin did seem to notice, picking the photograph up and biting at his lip, "Do you think I'm doing the right thing, Vlad? Chloe had a right go yesterday. Said we are too young."

Vlad had known there was a reason why he and Chloe got on so well. Aloud he said, "What do you think?" He worded his next line carefully, "I mean, it's not like you're not 'awesome' enough to find someone else. You tell me every time you see me."

Robin grinned at that, "I love her. I wouldn't 'ave asked her if I didn't. I just…" He shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished. "It doesn't matter, I'm just being stupid."

"Now," Vlad said as brightly as he could manage, "you're talking sense."

**xXx**

"So, Vlad," Lorena smiled sweetly up at him as he nursed a glass of orange juice a few nights later, flicking her long dark curls over her shoulder. "I heard you've said yes."

Vlad shrugged and kept his gaze on the stage, concentrating on the way Robin's slender fingers moved over the fretboard of his guitar. He wondered bitterly if she'd like Robin as much if she'd heard the way he used to sound. Had had to sit through endless out of tune metal covers, assurances that, of course they were going to be the next big thing, "don't be so stupid, Vlad".

Somehow he doubted it.

Lorena sighed, leaning in so he wouldn't have the option of pretending he couldn't hear her over the sound of the band. "Look, Vlad, I know you don't like me and," she pulled a face, "I can't say you do a lot for me but," she glanced over at Robin, "you're his best friend. I'm willing to pretend for his sake. The least you can do is the same."

"I've never said I don't like you."

Vlad avoided meeting her eye, for once not wanting to act like the responsible adult. She had everything he wanted; he didn't know how he was supposed to act like he didn't care. Like he didn't want to rip her throat out every time Robin so much as looked in her direction.

"It must be hard for you," she went on quietly, the look of pitying understanding on her face only making him hate her more, "but you have to accept it. He's never going to want you."

He didn't even wait until the end of their set to leave.

**xXx  
**

"You left really early the other night," were Robin's opening words next time they met up, Vlad despairing at his inability to keep his distance. He'd take a walk through the midday sun if Robin asked him to, he was certain of it. "Were we that bad?"

Vlad plastered a false smile across his face, "You're starting to get it. It's only taken you what, seven years?"

"Haha," Robin glared, nudging at his side to force him to move over and make more space, dropping down onto the sofa. "If it weren't for the fact my leaving the world of graphic design would break hearts, we'd be rich an' famous."

"Just keep telling yourself that."

Robin grabbed a handful of the popcorn he'd been eating, ignoring his protests, "You can be a right dick at times, Vlad, you know that?" Before Vlad could start apologising he went on, "'Ave you written your speech yet?"

Things just went from bad to worse, that was his lot in (un)life.

"Not yet." Vlad risked a glance at Robin's profile, the glow of the television screen making his skin look even paler than usual, emphasising the sweep of his cheekbones. His useless heart constricted. "Do you want to go out or anything? Last chance before," he hesitated, didn't even want to say it aloud, "you know."

Robin frowned, thinking about the question. Finally he shook his head. "Not really. Lorena wouldn't like it if I got really drunk anyway."

Vlad resisted the urge to point out how little he cared, and encourage Robin to do it just to spite her.

"I'd rather just do something with you," Robin told him, leaning all over him in an attempt to get comfortable, grinning at his discomfort. Vlad reasoned that Robin didn't know the real reason for it, and tried not to blame him for it. "You'll be deprived of my awesomeness soon." Robin squirmed until his head was resting against Vlad's side, "You should make the most of it while you can."

Vlad watched the rest of the film with unseeing eyes, the finality hanging heavy in the air. Why couldn't Robin see what was right in front of him?

**xXx**

"Vladdo!" Ian clapped him across the shoulders. "'Aven't seen you for a while. Mam's been wanting to feed you up."

Paul grinned in greeting from the sofa as he was ushered into the sitting room. "Here's the man himself, I want to hear what you've got planned for Robin's last days of freedom!"

"Paul," Mrs. Branagh scolded, "Don't talk about it like that." She smiled at Vlad kindly, "Robin's already said he doesn't want to do anything."

"Yeah," Ian scoffed, "that's what everyone _says_. That's why the whole best man thing was invented." He and Paul shared a look that implied this was common knowledge.

"Actually," Chloe spoke up, "the custom can be traced back to the second century AD."

This time Paul gave Vlad a significant look, "Yeah, great." After a moment to let the sarcasm sink in, he went on, "So, come on then Vlad, don't spare the gory detail."

"Aw, no," Ian shook his head, "I know that look. You 'aven't got anything arranged, 'ave you?" Vlad gave Chloe a desperate look, she just shrugged. "Don't worry, we 'ad a feeling this would 'appen." Ian tapped the side of his nose and beamed, "You just leave it to us."

**xXx**

"He's going to kill me!" Vlad said as soon as he managed to get Chloe on her own. "Or, you know, he would if I wasn't dead already." Chloe fixed him with a searching look, mouth pressing into a tight line of disapproval.

"You're really going to let him go through with this?"

Vlad looked away, gaze wandering around the Branaghs' brightly decorated dining room. "What else am I supposed to do?" The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out anyway, "He loves her."

Chloe sighed. "He _thinks_ he loves her. You should be showing him that he's wrong."

"Have you been talking to Ingrid?" Vlad asked, not quite able to keep the suspicion from his voice. Chloe smirked,

"I don't need to. Nobody knows Robin better than I do. Not even you." Vlad begged to differ but didn't interrupt. "Trust me when I say this will be the biggest mistake he ever makes."

Vlad fidgeted with the table cloth beneath his fingers, trying to remind himself he was the Grand High Vampire, not an insecure teenager. It didn't work. "He already knows how I feel," he told her quietly. "He must do. Everyone else does." He cringed, "Your _mum_ just told me she's always been on my side."

Humiliating didn't even begin to cover it.

"You're as blind as he is." Chloe placed a hand over his own. "Tell him."

**xXx**

"I didn't mean it the other night," Vlad apologised the next time he saw Robin, the chessboard laid out between them, "about the band. You're really good."

"Obviously," Robin scoffed, but Vlad could see the hint of pink in his pale cheeks his compliment had caused. Could smell the heated blood pulsing through his veins.

Vlad studied him as Robin played his next move, capturing another of his rooks. He'd never gotten the hang of chess. He told Robin it was because it was boring, not a patch on Sluedo. The truth was that he could never concentrate with Robin around. Not on board games at any rate.

"You should have more faith in yourself," he told Robin as he made his own misjudged move. When there was no quick comeback he found himself looking up into dark eyes, the silence oddly intense. Vlad swallowed thickly, hoping his feelings weren't written all across his face.

Then again, it might be better all round if they were. Hadn't he promised himself to tell Robin tonight? To leave himself open to the rejection he'd been sure would follow such an admission ever since he'd realised he wanted to make one.

He hesitated, fear paralysing, until Robin coughed and shifted awkwardly. "The bishop can only move diagonally, Vlad."

Vlad stared down at the board and his bishop, biting at his lip. Lorena was right. Robin just wasn't interested.

**xXx**

"Does my hair look alright?"

Ingrid pulled a face as she looked him up and down and Vlad wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have to rely on other people's opinions for this sort of thing. He missed his reflection.

"I was under the impression you were making a last ditch attempt to seduce Branagh tonight."

Her tone suggested he didn't have a hope.

"No," Vlad lied.

"Go out looking like that and you'll spend tomorrow polishing up your speech." At Vlad's blank look she sighed, "You look like someone's uncle. _Where_ did you get this?" She plucked at his sweater in disgust.

"I don't know," Vlad snapped defensively, "I think it looks smart."

"_You_ would." Vlad folded his arms across his chest and Ingrid heaved a sigh. "I can't believe I'm about to do this. When are you supposed to meet Branagh?"

Vlad glared at her accusingly, she was plotting something. And nothing good ever came of that. He still had the scorch marks to prove it. "An hour," he told her tersely, not quite wanting to acknowledge how fast the last few weeks had flown. The thought that Robin was going to stand there and say 'I do' in under a week, while he watched in church induced shakes, was enough to make him feel ill.

"Don't expect miracles," Ingrid warned, dragging him by the wrist towards her crypt, "but, at least you can't be made to look any worse."

**  
xXx**

Vlad hesitated at the Branaghs' front door, feeling like an idiot in the outfit Ingrid had picked out for him. Her entreaty to get in touch with his vampiric side had done nothing but make him think of Robin's neck. Somehow he didn't think sinking his fangs in on the middle of the dance floor would do much for his cause.

Not unless he wanted to have to explain why Robin was experiencing a sudden propensity to smoulder in sunlight, at any rate.

Paul answered the door, taking in his makeover with a knowing grin. "Somebody's looking to pull tonight!"

Ian appeared in the hallway behind him, pushing a miserable looking Robin along in front of him. Robin's face lit up at the sight of him, and Vlad squirmed self consciously. The last thing he needed was Robin to _laugh_ at him.

"Is the new look for me?" He asked, eyeing up his shirt in obvious interest.

"Don't be stupid!" Paul exclaimed, ushering Robin through the door, "Vladdo's got some taste, 'aven't you, mate?"

"Who was that bloke you were seeing at Christmas?" Ian asked, frowning with the effort of trying to remember. "Posh bloke he was." Vlad felt still more uncomfortable, but dutifully supplied the answer,

"Radu."

He hoped nobody could tell the pathetic truth. That he'd begged one of his advisors to pretend; on the off chance it might make Robin jealous enough to realise he could be more than the fanged best buddy. In the event Robin had been too bust proposing to Lorena to pay him any attention.

Ian nodded, "Yeah, that was it. See, Robin. Vlad here is still playing the field." Vlad felt unreasonably cheered that even Ian seemed to be against his forthcoming nuptials to someone who was, as he'd been assured many times, hot stuff.

They clambered into the waiting taxi, Liam and Ryan from Robin's office and a whole group of the twins' friends staring at him with open curiosity.

"Right then boys," Paul rubbed his hands together in obvious glee, "If Robin can still stand by midnight we've failed!"

**xXx**

It was only half past ten and Robin already seemed to be having problems staying vertical. Vlad hovered, afraid Robin was going to do himself an injury. Ian and Paul had no such concerns, steering Robin towards the dance floor and imploring Vlad to let him 'make a fool of himself, it's his last chance'.

Robin was certainly doing a good job of it, he had to concede. Not that it was putting people off in the way he thought it should be, a pretty girl with short blonde hair giggling as Robin leaned in to holler something in her ear.

Vlad watched, half hoping Robin would drape himself all over her. That Paul would whip out his camera phone and let Lorena know. That the whole stupid thing would grind to a halt. But, when it came to it, he just couldn't let it happen. Insinuated himself between them and told the girl Robin was off-limits, would be married come Monday.

She backed off apologetically, and Ian handed Robin another bottle of something Vlad suspected would taste almost as bad going down as it would when it inevitably came back up.

He felt like a third wheel, unable to drink lest he give into the urge to latch onto the first neck he came across. And, given the way he couldn't seem to drag himself away from Robin's side, there was one obvious contender. Finally he retreated to the sofas lining the back wall, where he could watch Robin without attracting quite so much attention.

He'd not been there long when Robin sought him out, almost landing in his lap as he collapsed down next to him.

"I was looking for you," Robin whined, leaning heavily against his side, head pressed into his shoulder.

"And now you've found me." Vlad tried to put some space between them, the heat soaking through the thin material of Robin's shirt filling his head with all manner of unsuitable thoughts. Robin was having none of it, shifting closer still.

"I don't like it when you go away. I miss you." Robin pulled him into an awkward hug, one hand wrapping around his waist. "You're my best friend, Vlad. My very best friend."

Vlad was glad he couldn't blush, especially as Robin decided it would be a good idea to rest his head against his chest, breath skittering along the exposed skin at his collarbone and sending shivers through him. It wasn't fair, Vlad thought desperately, to put temptation in his bloody lap.

"You smell nice, Vlad." Robin told him solemnly, sniffing at his neck. "If I lived with you, do you think my stuff would smell of you?"

Vlad was spared from trying to formulate an answer by the blonde girl from earlier; she had one steadying hand on her friend's arm, gesturing at Robin widely with the other,

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." Vlad frowned at her in confusion. "When you said he was getting married, I didn't realise it was to _you_. I feel such an idiot." Vlad opened his mouth, not sure where to start, but she kept talking. "Congratulations though." She nudged her friend, "Don't they make a cute couple?"

She nodded and Vlad watched them go in bemusement, wondered if people came up to Lorena to say stuff like that. Robin shifted against his chest, yawning widely, "I want to go home."

Vlad checked his watch, 11:55pm. Mission accomplished.

**xXx**

"You sure, Vlad?" Ian asked, gaze fixed on the way Robin was clinging to his side like a limpet, arms wound around his neck. "You don't 'ave to take him back."

"I don't mind," Vlad said as casually as he could. "That's what the best man's for."

Paul clapped him across the back – harder than Vlad would have liked – oblivious to the way he was spilling his drink. "That's the spirit." Mindful of the earlier discussion about lampposts and handcuffs Vlad wrapped an arm around Robin in support and half dragged, half carried him out into the cold night air.

Robin shivered against him and Vlad pulled him closer, knowing he really shouldn't. It didn't stop him from keeping an arm wrapped around Robin's shoulders all the way home – his home – deciding that there would be no point in waking Lorena up.

Ingrid was out and his dad was nowhere to be seen when they got back, something Vlad was grateful for as he guided Robin up to his room. He didn't resist when Robin pulled at his arm, insistent until he was lying next to Robin, as careful to keep his limbs to himself as Robin was carelessly sprawling all over the place.

"Are we going to share?" Robin asked, hand still wrapped around his arm, squirming so that his head was on the pillow, inches away from his own face. "We 'aven't done that for years."

Vlad knew. Robin was peering over at him now, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, and it was all Vlad could do not press him into the mattress and kiss him senseless. "It was simple then, wasn't it?" Robin still hadn't let go of his arm. "It didn't mean anything."

He tried and failed to look away. "It wouldn't have to mean anything now."

Robin met his gaze steadily, suddenly seeming far less out of it. Vlad felt like Robin could see right inside him, eyes boring through into the void where his soul ought to be,

"You know that's not true."

And then it was there between them. Acknowledgement that Robin _knew_. Vlad wanted to disappear. Wanted to never leave Robin's side. Robin tilted his head back; neck exposed in what they both knew was shameless invitation, the sound of Robin's rapid heartbeat pounding in Vlad's ears. Warm fingers tugged at his own and Vlad felt his restraint snap like something physical, moving to press his nose into the crook of Robin's neck, lingering for long moments until Robin took the initiative and hauled him into a kiss.

It was nothing like he had imagined; wet and sloppy and he could taste the alcohol on Robin's tongue. It didn't seem to matter.

Robin clutched at his back with one hand, the other wound tightly in his hair, arching up against Vlad's slighter frame. He could _feel_ the effect he was having on Robin and it was making his head spin, to know that Robin wanted him as badly as he did him. Vlad shifted his weight onto one hand, grinding down harder against him. He used his free hand to push the material of Robin's shirt aside.

At the first touch of his hand to skin, Robin gasped, from the touch or the cold Vlad couldn't say. The grip in his hair tightened still further and Robin pushed, as self focussed as Vlad had always known he would be, forcing his lips back to the column of his throat.

They should stop, Vlad knew. _He_ should stop. But he couldn't. Not with Robin panting desperately beneath him, not with the way he groaned his name when he gave in and latched onto the pale skin, crushing his weight down fully so he could concentrate on raising livid bruises without breaking skin. On marking Robin so that everyone would know to stay away.

Fingers clenched in the back of his shirt and he bit down as hard as he dared, wary of drawing blood. Robin made an unintelligible noise, clawing at him with an edge of desperation that made Vlad pull away to check he hadn't miscalculated. What he saw when he met Robin's eyes was almost as bad.

"Vlad," his tone was small, fear obvious, "we shouldn't be doing this." Robin pressed a hand to his throat, Vlad unable to keep his gaze from following; registering the purpling marks with a satisfaction he was sure Robin didn't feel. His skin was clammy to the touch and when Vlad reached out to trace his own fingers across the damaged skin, Robin flinched away from him.

"What am I going to do?"

**xXx**

"Is it really noticeable?"

Vlad bit at his lip, not sure whether Robin wanted the truth. 10 hours sleep, a shower, and a change of clothes had done nothing to calm him down and Vlad didn't think he could keep his opinions to himself for much longer.

"What am I going to do if she notices?"

"Tell her the truth?" Vlad suggested quietly.

Robin looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Vlad, 'ave you lost your mind!?" He shook his head, "What would I say? It was late and Vlad was feeling a bit peckish. 'Ave I mentioned he's a vampire?"

The sarcasm in Robin's tone was the final straw. "I said you should tell her the truth." Robin turned wide eyes on him in surprise at his churlish tone. "That," Vlad eyed the bruising up pointedly, "had nothing to do with my being a vampire. And you know it."

There was no answer and Vlad came to a decision, the decision he should have made weeks ago.

"I'm not going to stand there and watch you marry her, Robin. I can't."

"You can't drop out now. The wedding's in three days!"

Vlad let his gaze linger on Robin's throat, determined not to back down. "If there is a wedding."

**xXx**

"So much as think about knocking this door again and it'll be the last thing you ever do. Understand?"

The sound of the front door slamming reverberated throughout the castle and Vlad stared down at his handwritten speech glumly. Robin wasn't going to change his mind.

"Halloween," Ingrid scowled, pulling a chair out violently and sitting down. "What's the point if we're not allowed to drain the little cretins?"

The Count nodded. "Like juice cartons on legs. Are you sure they'd be missed, Vlad?"

Vlad glared in answer. The Count waved one hand dismissively, "Are you still moping over your peasant friend? Show him who's in charge. Drain his blood!"

"Yeah," Vlad muttered, "He'll see things much more clearly when he's dead."

"Exactly."

Ingrid sneered, "Are you not even going to try? You're such a wimpire."

"I am _not_ a wimpire!"

The Count 'hmm'ed in response, unfolding the newspaper in his hands to reveal the headline. 'GHV Wimpire Says Opposition.'

Vlad stormed to his feet. "Fine. Whatever. I'm going to my room."

He pretended not to hear Ingrid's muttered, "Good riddance."

**xXx**

"I never thought I'd say this," Ingrid told him the following morning, glancing up from painting her nails, "but I'm missing your idiotic smile. Why don't you just kill her and be done with it?"

"Why don't you just get out of my room?" Vlad retorted, not bothering to sit, "That way you won't have to look at it."

"I'm just making sure you don't do anything stupid. Like open the shutters." She shrugged, "It'll never last, a few years time you can be there to pick up the pieces."

"You're not doing a very good job."

Ingrid held a hand up then, a sign that he should shut up. "What time are they saying 'I do'?"

Vlad rolled over, turning away from her. "Eleven. Not that it matters." It hurt worse than cutting his first fang, his chest aching like it hadn't since his heart had come to a stuttering halt. Even joining the ranks of the undead hadn't been enough to catch Robin's eye. He swiped at his own, determined not to give Ingrid the satisfaction.

He missed Ingrid's grin,

"I just remembered I have better things to do."

**xXx**

"Go away!"

There was another knock at his bedroom door and Vlad groaned. He'd only just got rid of Ingrid. It sounded for the third time and he sighed, accepting that he was going to have to get up and tell Renfield that he didn't want any dust spread.

When he pulled the door back it wasn't to find Renfield loitering in the corridor. Or even one of his advisors from the Council, wanting to know what they should do about the never ending problem of unlicensed werewolf baiting in Lithuania. Instead Robin was stood there, the crisp whiteness of his shirt stark against his black suit jacket. Anxious eyes fixed on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He'd meant the words to sound cold and flat, they came out concerned and hopeful. Robin squirmed under his gaze and his own eyes were drawn to the fading bruises visible over his starched shirt collar. There was no way she'd been able to miss them. "She called it off, did she?"

"No." Robin shook his head, took a step closer. "I did."

Vlad swallowed, barely daring to ask the next question. "Why?"

"I can't do it, Vlad," Robin, ran a hand through his hair. Vlad could see he was shaking. "Not after the other night." Vlad took pity on him then, moving to let him in. Watching from the doorway as Robin sat, twisting the length of his unknotted tie between his fingers.

"I thought you loved her."

Robin winced, and Vlad felt bad for throwing his words back in his face. But not bad enough to take them back.

"I thought I did too. But not enough."

He couldn't stand it any longer, moving across the room in three strides to be at Robin's side. "So what exactly are you saying?"

Robin met his gaze sheepishly, finally letting hold the death grip on his tie to press tentative fingers to his hand. "That you're my best man?"

"Is that a euphemism?" Vlad asked, but smiled all the same, letting Robin know that he wasn't angry. Far from it.

"It can be, if you want it to."

The words were tentative, unsure in spite of the manic grin Vlad was certain was plastered across his face. He shifted closer, one hand to the back of Robin's neck, fingers tracing through the hair at his nape. Robin's heart rate sped up, cheeks flushing at his touch, and Vlad smiled still wider.

"I do."


	62. Chapter 62

**_Written for +fictiondrabbles prompt #45 "custom".  
_**

* * *

"You have to, it's tradition!"

"I don't _have_ to do anything."

"_Please_ Robin," Vlad pleaded, "Nobody else will do it with me."

"Jonno would," Robin grinned, "if you hypnotised him for long enough."

"You're not funny."

"That's not what your mam says."

Vlad shook his head, pulling a face. "If you're going to be like this I don't even want you to do it."

"Fine." Robin scowled.

"Fine."

The stand off lasted one moment, two, before Robin gave in, glaring up at the mistletoe.

When he pulled away Vlad stared back at him wide eyed, and Robin shrugged,

"It's tradition."


	63. Chapter 63

**_Series of 10 drabbles written for the songs set at centi_50 ._**

* * *

**Nobody's Side – Chess:**

"You always take her side."

"No," Vlad frowned, dropping his uneaten sandwich back into his lunchbox in disgust, "I don't." Vlad thought that Robin seemed to get his own way most of the time so, even if he did, it wasn't making much difference.

"You do!" Robin insisted, glowering first in the direction his sister had just gone, and then back at Vlad. "_I'm_ supposed to be your best friend. You should take my side."

Vlad shrugged apologetically, "Chloe's ideas are always better."

"That," Robin sneered, Vlad resigning himself to putting up with a lengthy sulk, "is not the point."

* * *

**Shelter From The Storm – Bob Dylan:**

"Still think Chloe's ideas are better than mine then?" Robin hissed, holding his coat over his head in an attempt to shelter from the pounding rain.

Vlad glared but kept quiet. Robin wouldn't be able to hear him anyway, the rain was coming down harder still, clattering off the concrete roof and stinging where it hit his exposed skin.

He was startled when warm fingers curled around his shoulder, pulling him closer until he was pressed tight against his best friend's side. Robin met his curious gaze with a crooked smile,

"Don't want you to catch your undeath, do I?"

* * *

**One Moment in Time – Whitney Houston:**

It had been a single moment that made Vlad realise. The dawn of understanding blinding, clarity where before there had been nothing but ignorance.

Pressed close against Robin's side, body heat seeping through his thin uniform shirt, one hand wrapped casually around his shoulder.

He finally had the friendship he'd always dreamed of. The _human_ companionship he'd almost given up hope of ever attaining. The easy acceptance he'd already spent a lifetime craving.

Robin smiled at him, wide and unguarded, and Vlad couldn't hide from the truth.

He might have everything he'd ever wanted but - he still wanted more.

* * *

**My Junk – Spring Awakening:**

"Shall I just chuck it down here?"

"Chuck it down!?" Robin protested. "That ain't just any old junk, Vlad! _That_ is going to get me a girlfriend!"

Vlad peered into the carrier bag and pulled a face. Kelsey didn't strike him as the sort of girl who would appreciate a cuddly bat. With that in mind he resolved to let Robin give it to her.

Robin sank down onto his bed, kicking a pile of clean clothes to the floor with one foot. "This time tomorrow I'll be hooked up."

"Yeah," Vlad hid a smirk, "I'm sure you will be."

* * *

**You Give Me Something – James Morrison:**

"I can't believe she said yes," Vlad said numbly, staring unseeingly across the canteen as Kelsey sashayed away, the rest of her gang close behind.

Robin scowled, "You never 'ave any faith in me. Of course she said yes, I'm fit. And don't say I'm not," Robin waved his half eaten sandwich around for emphasis, "you're not a girl, so you don't know anything about it."

Vlad bit at his lip, contradicting him would only make things worse, he knew.

"Your problem, Vlad," Robin told him with an air of finality, "is that you need to give me more credit."

* * *

**You Don't Bring Me Flowers – Neil Diamond and Barbara Streisand:**

You don't bring _me_ flowers, Vlad thought bitterly. Irrationally. There was no good reason why Robin should. No reason he was willing to make public knowledge at any rate.

"She loved them, Vlad," Robin bragged, slouching back into his seat, "she's going to show me how much later. Get my drift?" He raised a lecherous eyebrow and it was all Vlad could do not to snarl.

"You ought to get a girlfriend too," Robin went on, "we could go on a double date."

Vlad shrugged, trying to look disinterested, "I don't want one."

"You," Robin shook his head, "are weird."

* * *

**Bad Romance – Lady GaGa:**

Vlad watched forlornly as Robin and Kelsey got serious, the sight of her hand in his like a knife to the heart. Robin didn't notice, too busy daydreaming and bragging and, Vlad thought nastily when it felt like the pain would never ease, being self absorbed.

Until, suddenly, he did notice. Wanted to know why he was miserable and snappish. Vlad was almost flattered until he caught Robin eyeing up his canines with an intensity bordering on unsettling.

Robin denied it and, in weak moments, Vlad let himself believe his defence.

_You're my best mate and I care about you._

* * *

**I Want to Break Free – Queen:**

Vlad gave Robin a questioning look as the other boy slammed into his bedroom, throwing himself down on Vlad's bed.

"I've 'ad enough, she's doing my head in!"

"So," Vlad sat up properly, snapping his book shut, "I take it you didn't have a nice time at the cinema?"

"No!" Robin shook his head viciously, oblivious to the sarcasm. "I did not."

Out of Robin's line of sight Vlad allowed himself a victorious grin, only barely resisting the urge to punch the air in triumph. For weeks now he and Kelsey had been at war.

And he had just won.

* * *

**Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want – The Smiths:**

This time, Vlad was determined; he was going to tell Robin the truth. Tell Robin the real reason why he wasn't interested in that girl Kelsey had tried to set him up with. Why he couldn't stand to be in Kelsey's presence in the first place.

Robin beat him to it, grinning at the look of shock on his face when he opened the door. "Bright an' colourful," Robin said, pressing the garish bouquet into his hands, "I knew you'd like them."

Vlad smiled back, stepping aside to let him in. "I do. Almost as much as I like you."

* * *

**Two of Us – The Beatles:**

"Everyone's laughing at us," Robin told him quietly as he slid into his seat. "_Everyone._ Vlad glanced around them, the sniggering and the half hidden smirks providing ample proof. He met Robin's eye then and shrugged,

"I don't care."

"At all?" Robin pressed, clearly unconvinced.

Vlad shook his head, touching one hand to Robin's, gratified to see the way Kelsey sneered across the room at him in response. Jealousy, he thought happily, was not a good look for her.

"That's your problem, Robin," he grinned, hoping Robin would realise he wasn't being serious, "you just don't give me enough credit."


	64. Chapter 64

**_Series of 7 drabbles written for +7snogs._**

* * *

**Soft:**

"You're soft in the head, you are," Robin told him, shaking his head. "If I could hypnotise people I'd make all the girls fancy me!"

Vlad shrugged, carefully keeping his eyes on his lunch. "I don't really like any of them." He looked up in time to catch Delila glaring daggers in his direction and he cringed. "And they definitely don't like me. What would I do when it wore off?"

Robin followed his gaze, grinning and winking at Delila who sneered and turned away. "That don't matter." He gave Vlad a pointed look, "You'll already 'ave snogged them then!"

* * *

**Jealousy:**

"Can you stop saying that!?" Vlad demanded, halting sharply in the middle of the corridor to glare at Robin. "You did not snog Ingrid!"

"But," Robin protested, "I did." Robin shot him a crooked grin, leaning casually against the wall in a way Vlad supposed was calculated to annoy him more, "There was _definitely_ tongue action."

Vlad threw his hands up in frustration, just resisting the urge to throttle Robin. "Well, I don't want to keep hearing about it."

"You're just jealous."

"What?" Vlad scoffed. "That you kissed my _sister_?"

"No," Robin shook his head smugly, "That she kissed _me_."

* * *

**Uniform:**

Vlad blanched, skin clammy as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. His denial stuck in his throat, the words barely audible. "I don't fancy you."

"Don't be stupid, Vlad," Robin told him, hauling his backpack higher onto his shoulder and straightening out his coat sleeve, "_Everyone_ fancies me."

When there was no answer Robin turned his full attention on him, dark eyes concerned as they took in his chalk white visage. "I was only joking. I know you don't want to snog me." He laughed, the sound harsh as it echoed off around the empty hallway.

Vlad stayed silent.

* * *

**Embrace:**

The silence was becoming oppressive, Vlad keeping his gaze on anything but Robin, eventually fixing on the sketched bats adorning Robin's bedroom walls.

"I didn't know," Robin said finally, soft and quiet. "Honest. I wouldn't 'ave joked about it if I had."

Vlad swallowed thickly, gathering up all his courage to look Robin in the face. "Are you mad at me?"

"For fancying me?" Robin frowned. "You can't help that." Vlad looked away, expression miserable, and Robin touched a hand to his arm, pulling him into a hug.

"It's okay, Vlad, really. You're always going to be my best mate."

* * *

**Rumour:  
**  
"Branagh!" Price called, moving smoothly to stop Robin stepping around him. "What's all this I hear about you and Count?" Davis snickered and Robin glared at them both,

"_What_ are you talking about?"

"Always knew there was something weird about you," Price sneered, looking him up and down in distaste.

Davis nodded, "Count must be proper desperate if he's snogging you."

"Whatever you've heard," Robin shook his head, "you've heard wrong. Me an' Vlad, it's not like that."

"Calling me a liar?" Price hissed, low and threatening, and Robin took an instinctive step back. "You want to watch your back."

* * *

**Argument:**

"It's not my fault!" Vlad declared, getting to his feet to pace the space between his bed and the window.

"Well, it's not mine, is it!?" Robin spat back. "You must 'ave told someone."

Vlad gave him an incredulous look, exasperation getting the better of him. "What is there to tell!? I like you and you're not interested." He shook his head, tone dripping sarcasm, "I brag about that to everyone!"

Robin shifted uncomfortably at that and Vlad sighed. "Sorry, but you _were_ out of order."

"Yeah," Robin said, sitting heavily on the bed, expression for once inscrutable, "I know."

* * *

**Sunset:**

"I won't be able to see this for much longer," Vlad said mournfully, watching the last rays of evening sunshine disappear.

"You could watch it on TV," Robin suggested, crossing the room to stand at his side.

Vlad shook his head, "It wouldn't be the same."

"I've been thinking," Robin started, fidgeting uncharacteristically, "you should start doing stuff, you know, all the things you won't be able to do when you're a vampire."

"Like what?" Vlad asked curiously, noting Robin's nervousness.

"Like," Robin leaned closer, Vlad's heart threatening to stop three months early, until their lips were almost touching, "_this_."


	65. Chapter 65

_**Written for +slashthedrabble prompt #243 "set".**_

* * *

"Tuck your shirt in, boy!"

Vlad glanced down the line, then back at Robin. "He's going to go mad." Robin shrugged, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

"Price, where's your blazer? In your bag? Well, put it on then!"

He should have known Robin still wouldn't be speaking to him. He was good at that, Robin. Mrs. Branagh always said he could sulk for Wales. Vlad thought she didn't give him enough credit.

It was too late to do anything about it now, anyway.

"Branagh," Jenkins paused in front of them, eyeing Robin up and down in distaste, "What's your excuse? Come on, let's hear it."

There was no way he could lie about it, Vlad thought, glancing down at the state of Robin's school trousers, still sodden below the knee.

"I fell in the pond, Sir."

Jenkins looked like he was barely restraining himself from wrapping his hands around Robin's throat. Vlad could sympathise. Robin's throat was pretty irresistible.

"What," Jenkins paused, for emphasis, "were you doing near the pond, Branagh? You know full well it's off limits."

Vlad peered at Robin curiously; this was part of the story he had yet to hear. Knowing Robin – and _nobody_ knew Robin better than he did – he'd probably been looking for more frogs to dissect during maths, grasshoppers to pull the legs off of in the middle of business studies.

"Price pushed him, innit Sir?" Someone piped up, sniggering.

"I never did nothing, Sir!" Price protested.

"You don't get this with top set," Jenkins muttered, before striding back towards the classroom door. "Right, year ten, get in, sit down. Price, Branagh, put your planners on my desk." His voice brightened, "I think detention is in order."

"Aw, what!?"

Vlad hung back from Price's bad mood, giving Robin his full attention. "Is that true, did he push you?"

Robin shrugged, again. Vlad thought of cavemen.

"You should have told me."

"What could you 'ave done about it?" Robin snapped, slapping his week planner down onto Jenkins' desk as they shuffled towards their seats. Vlad flashed him a smile, certain the scowl would be wiped off Robin's face soon enough.

There was a clatter behind them, the room erupting in laughter. "Price," Jenkins called, slamming the door behind them, "How many times I have told you about swinging on that chair!? See me after the lesson."

Vlad grinned, "Not so useless now, am I?"


	66. Chapter 66

"Robin!"

It's like a foghorn blaring up through the floorboards. If foghorns could form actual words, were women and, you know, had a Welsh accent. She's got the stamina a foghorn though, my mam. Wait for it. Three, two, one…

"Robin!!"

See, what did I tell you? It's like this every morning. She wants me to get up and get ready for school, I want to stay in bed and pretend school doesn't exist. This sums up the fundamental tension in our mother – son relationship. We don't want the same things.

"Robin! Vlad's at the door!"

That's the cue to actually move if I don't want another lecture from old Peterson when I finally do get to school.

Some people get out of bed when their alarm clock starts ringing. I only move when Vlad's at the door. He's always early anyway; I reckon he does it on purpose so he can make calf eyes at my sister. Or my brother. You can never tell with Vlad, he plays his cards close to his chest on that front.

Vlad's been my best mate for years, ever since he shipped up in this dump of a town from deepest darkest Transylvania. Bistrita at any rate. I knot my tie in front of the mirror and picture Vlad shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot downstairs, answering my dad's pointless questions about spelling tests and the state of the council's bin collection.

That's my dad for you.

"Robin! You're going to be late!"

This is the one that means I really need to shift. One last touch up to the hair, shrug into the coat, shoulder the bag and that's it. Ready to face another day of hell on earth.

**

* * *

**

"So, come on then," I say round a mouthful of toast, giving Vlad a friendly elbow to the ribs, "spit it out. Which one of the twins 'ave you got your eye on?"

Vlad screws his face up, all indignant outrage at the suggestion. I like it when he does that, makes him look like a right nit. When I point it out to him, he just does it all the more.

"I don't fancy your brothers."

"I never said you did." Vlad looks all confused and I have to fight to keep the smile off my face. He's so easy to wind up. "I asked which _one_ you fancied," now I am grinning, "that's brother in the singular, and you know it."

"You're an idiot."

"Thanks."

Vlad scowls the rest of the way to school and I wonder if I might not have pushed him a bit far. He's having a rough time of it at the moment, more than the usual spots, girls and parental trauma (trust me, I could write a book on that). Because the thing you'd never realise from just looking at Vlad is that he's a vampire.

Seriously.

And not one of those sparkly family-friendly types either. His dad is Count Dracula. _The_ Count Dracula. Not that you'd know it. Vlad's about as vampiric as Duckula. We're working on it though.

Thing is, we haven't got long left. Vlad's turning sixteen in a fortnight and then it'll be too late. I've tried asking him if there's anything he wants to do before becoming a member of the undead. Personally I'd be over the moon if I could never go to school again, with fangs and bat wings into the bargain. Vlad gets a bit funny about it all.

I even caught him writing some shockingly bad poetry about sunlight and heartbeats the other day. Worse than his usual fare, and that's saying something. There's only one explanation I can think of. He's obviously got a crush on someone. And, because I'm such a good mate, I've made it my mission to find out who and get him palmed off on them to swap spit while he still can.

A modern day Mother Theresa, I am.

"Are you coming to chess club at lunchtime?" Vlad asks as we reach the school gates – proving he can't hold a grudge for longer than seven minutes – and I shake my head with this sort of world weariness.

We've still got a long way to go.

**

* * *

**

School grinds along the same way it always does. History, Biology, Art (the only highlight in an otherwise wrist cutting worthy timetable), Maths and English. There's something about having English last lesson that really does make you want to chuck yourself out of the nearest window. It seems to drag on for hours and hours.

We all sit there in enforced silence and read books by dead people that nobody really likes anyway. I mean, when you ask someone what their favourite book is they don't turn round and say 'An Inspector Calls', do they?

I end up feeling jealous of the girl who tops herself, at least she doesn't have to sit and read the bloody thing.

By the time the bell rings my brain is seconds away from dribbling out through my ears. That's what school does to you, robs you of any enthusiasm you might have had for the subject. Unless you're my little sister. Or Vlad. They're both swots of the militant variety though so it's no use comparing yourself to them.

I loiter about in the corridor waiting for Vlad to emerge from his own English classroom. We used to be in the same class but Mrs. Evans who does the timetables split us up deliberately in year 10 because I was being a bad influence on him. Apparently. My dad believed her at any rate; it took him three weeks to forget about stopping my pocket money.

When Vlad does emerge he's looking more miserable than usual. I get this urge to comb his fringe down over one eye and leave him to it. I don't though because I'm a nice guy. And Vlad needs reminding that, if he ever needs to bite someone to keep him eternal company, I'd be an awesome choice.

"Cheer up," I say, one hand on his shoulder to get him moving, "I've got good news for you."

"There's no such thing."

I give him this look then, all scolding. There's only room for one pessimist in a friendship, that's the way it works. I took the role years ago, we can't switch now.

"Yes, there is. _I_ have hooked you up with a hot date for tonight." So, okay, she's really kind of average but, well, beggars can't be choosers.

Instead of the gushing thanks I've been expecting Vlad looks like I've just told him I've arranged for him to be tied down and have bamboo needles wedged under his fingernails.

"What did you do that for!? I can't go out with some girl!" We're on the ground floor now and Vlad drags me into the boys' bathroom. I'm glad there's nobody around to witness it. We've got enough trouble with that rumour already. He pre-empts my 'why not?', opening his mouth wide and pressing the pads of his fingers to his pointy teeth.

They hadn't looked like that yesterday.

"Awesome!" I tell him, taking a step closer and swiping my own thumb against the point. I'm just wondering how much pressure it'll take to break skin when it dawns on me the situation is kind of weird. Even accounting for the fangs. I've got a thumb in his mouth, fingers cupping his cheek, and he's giving me this wide-eyed look. I feel myself blushing, prickly heat trailing down my neck, Vlad's gaze going with it.

Footsteps clatter along the corridor outside and I pull away, coughing and fidgeting with my backpack in an attempt to look nonchalant. Vlad doesn't say anything all the way home, just gives me the same calf eyed look I always imagine him giving my sister in the mornings every time he thinks I'm not looking.

It's a lot to get my head around.

"Are you going to see this girl then?" I ask awkwardly when we're halfway home. I wonder what Vlad would do with her. His favourite pastimes are moping about and complaining about his dad. It's why we get on so well. Somehow I don't think Ashleigh is the kind of girl who will be impressed by it.

I don't realise my stomach's all screwed up with the hope he'll say no until he's actually said it. My whole body goes limp with the relief. Vlad stops walking and bites at his lip, it looks weird with the way his fangs stick out.

"I thought you might want to come round, hang out a bit." He gives me a calculating look, all cunning through his eyelashes, "Or, if you're busy, I can always see what your brothers are doing."

It takes a few seconds to sink in, and then I'm grinning alongside him. Nervous tension fading in and out every few steps. He smiles back, toothily, and I'm certain of it.

There's hope for him yet.


	67. Chapter 67

_**This one comes from my fic request post on Livejournal. +misterfist prompted: I want you to write a cute, slashy oneshot about Robin and Vlad visitng a convention.**_

* * *

  
"We've still got time," Robin told him, glancing at his watch, "it won't take you that long to get changed."

Vlad schooled his face into what he hoped was a nonchalant expression. Not a look of horror. Of all the things he didn't want to do right now, getting changed into his costume was up there with feeding on the blood of an innocent. Robin, as usual, was completely oblivious to his discomfort. He shrugged,

"It's alright, I'll do it there."

"Suit yourself."

Robin had been his best friend ever since he had moved to Stokely, and Vlad felt guilty for hoping the other people at the train station didn't realise they were together. The cape, he could have coped with. For the first year of their friendship Robin had insisted on wearing a cape to school everyday.

In truth he had worn it _everywhere_. On one memorable occasion – not memories Vlad liked to look back on, but memorable all the same – Robin had even worn a cape swimming.

The point was that he'd had plenty of time to get used to it.

No, it was the face paint that was causing the problem. The horribly realistic blood smeared down the other boy's chin and across his pale throat.

Robin flashed a grin at an old lady shuffling past, plastic fangs glinting in the morning sunlight, and Vlad cringed. What had he let himself in for?

**

* * *

**

The train was only twenty minutes late, punctual by Stokely standards, and Robin finally spat the fangs into his hand and shoved them in his pocket as it pulled into the station. Vlad dared to hope the day wouldn't be too bad. Once they got to Cardiff it wasn't a long walk to the convention centre.

It's always a bad idea to get complacent, Vlad had learned.

As they were clambering onto the train someone shoved between them, nearly sending Vlad face first into the carriage wall.

"It's not Halloween yet, Branagh!"

Vlad regained his balance and glared at first the owner of the voice, then the two boys sniggering either side of him. Richard Price, Andrew Davis and Tommo Watson. They were in the same registration class as he and Robin. Now _everybody_ would know.

It wasn't a nice thought.

"This do it for you, does it, Count?" Price smirked, jerking his head in Robin's direction. "Bit of nephrophilia, eh?"

The term was 'necrophilia', but Vlad didn't think this was the time to point it out. Instead he squared his shoulders, wishing his own cape weren't weighing down his backpack, like a millstone around his neck. "Shove off, Price."

"Yeah," Robin joined in, brow creasing in distaste, "shove off."

There was a click and a flash, Watson grinning all over his face as he waved the phone in front of their faces on his way past.

"Gladly."

**

* * *

**

"This is going to be so awesome, Vlad!" Robin told him the instant they stepped off the train. "Do you want to go and get changed now?"

"_No_."

"You're not still upset about Price, are you?" Robin gave him a sly smile, "It was true anyway. Vampires are dead."

Vlad scowled. _Undead_. There was a world of difference. Besides, vampiresses were just as bad as human girls. Sticking their noses up in the air as soon as they clapped eyes on him. At least the humans sometimes felt guilty about it.

Robin gave him a friendly nudge, leading the way out of the bustling station. "You'll love it when we get there, you can meet all my friends."

Vlad bit at his lip, resisting the urge to comment. Nobody knew Robin better than he did; they spent almost all their free time together. Robin didn't have any other friends. At least, he had thought that Robin didn't have any other friends. Vlad wasn't at all sure he liked the idea.

It only took about ten minutes to reach their destination although, to Vlad, it felt more like an hour. An hour of people staring and pointing and laughing. He didn't know why he had agreed to go with Robin in the first place, he didn't even like comics. Then Robin beamed at him, happy and excited, and his treacherous heart stuttered in his chest.

He could never refuse Robin anything.

And, worst of all, Robin seemed to know it.

**

* * *

**

"Vampire or Slayer?"

"Sorry!?" Vlad squeaked, glancing up at the disinterested looking girl on the door in shock. What sort of place was this? She sighed and shook her head, speaking slowly as if were an imbecile,

"Which team are you on, vampire or slayer?"

"Vampire!" Robin answered for him, holding his own hand out eagerly for a badge. "This is so cool!"

"Yeah," the girl rolled her eyes and slapped two badges into Robin's upturned palm. Vlad gave her an apologetic look before scurrying after Robin. What he saw when he entered the main hall almost had his jaw on the floor. Suddenly Robin looked like one of the most normal people in the room.

There were girls with luminous hair and dayglo clothing, boys wearing cloaks and carrying, what looked to Vlad, like downright dangerous weaponry.

"Over here!" Robin exclaimed, dragging him by the arm over to a group of especially outlandishly dressed kids. There was a lot of excitable hand shaking and back slapping, Vlad shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as he watched on. He could barely believe it but _he_ felt like the odd one out, conspicuous in his jeans and sweater.

A boy with hair spiked in all directions sneered over Robin's shoulder, looking him up and down. It reminded Vlad of the look Price had given Robin earlier. He thought of the cape balled up in his bag and made a decision.

**

* * *

**

Vlad gave his reflection an appraising look. And not just to make the most of the ability. The high collar of his cape made his cheekbones look sharper, the smudges of Ingrid's borrowed eyeliner made his whole appearance look different. More like the posters lining Robin's bedroom wall Vlad thought with a hint of triumph.

He imagined the look on the spiky haired boys' face when he re-emerged and bit at his lip. It would be a really stupid thing to do, he knew. If anyone realised it could be a total disaster. But…

Glancing quickly at the door, wanting the reassurance that nobody was watching, he prodded at his teeth, the pad of his thumb pressed to the tip of his canine. It took a lot of concentration; last time he had tried he had just ended up with chronic toothache.

After a long minute of prodding and frowning and more prodding it was done. He grinned.

Robin was going to be _so_ impressed.

**

* * *

**

He found Robin queuing to get something signed by someone he'd never heard of. The kids from earlier were crowded close around him, all comparing the artwork of the comics they'd brought with them.

When Vlad approached they fell gratifyingly silent, taking in his makeover.

"_Nice_ cape!" One girl told him in a thick Bristol accent and Vlad smiled in thanks, well aware his fangs were on show.

This time it was Robin's jaw that went slack. It made Vlad's stomach squirm, to know that all Robin's attention was fixed intently on _him_. Robin leaned in close, Vlad breathing in the scent of Robin's aftershave and fake blood, voice lowering,

"Are those real?"

Vlad nodded. He felt strangely confident, at home – for what seemed like the first time ever – in the sort of clothing he was supposed to wear, hyper aware of the admiring glances he was earning from the throngs of people.

Robin was breathing quickly, eyes shining. "You never told me you could do that."

There was the barest hint of accusation and Vlad was reminded forcibly of why he had been keeping it from Robin in the first place. Robin would want him to bite him.

And Vlad was never sure he'd have the willpower to say no.

**

* * *

**

They'd been walking around for hours when Robin finally consented to let them go and find something to eat. Hours of trying not to blush every time he caught Robin staring at him. He wondered if this was how Robin felt – he spent a lot of time staring at Robin.

"What do you think?" Robin asked once they'd acquired some food, "Bad as you thought it'd be?"

"I didn't think it would be bad," Vlad protested around a mouthful of food. Sometimes lying was the lesser evil.

"Vlad," Robin gave him an exasperated look, the dark painted circles beneath his eyes and the blood on his chin making it look strange, "I can read you like a book."

That was a laugh, Vlad thought. If Robin had any idea what was going on his head he probably wouldn't be leaning against him as they sat eating. It made him almost angry, that he could be torn apart with emotion whilst Robin was clueless.

Robin gave him a speculative look, lingering on his mouth. _Fangs_, Vlad amended.

"You know earlier," Robin started, swallowing the last of his dinner, "was Price right? Do you only fancy other vampires?"

Vlad frowned, he hadn't been expecting that. "No. Why would you think that?"

Robin shrugged, "You just never like anyone at school."

"I do!" Vlad protested, a little too vehemently. Robin's gaze grew more intense, searching. Vlad felt his heart pounding in his chest; his palms were damp with sweat.

"You never like any of the girls," Robin said carefully, leaning closer. Vlad swallowed thickly. If Robin got much closer they would almost be kissing. He wondered dimly if Robin would taste of fake blood or coke and fries. Robin's expression turned nervous then, "Please don't tell me I'm making a fool of myself, Vlad."

There was that pleading look, the one that had made him agree to this outing in the first place and Vlad tried and failed to force his voice to work, his mouth working but no sound escaping. Robin went to look away and panic flooded through him, a rush of adrenaline sending a hand to Robin's nape, lips crashing clumsily together.

Robin's hand clutched at his arm and he started kissing back, the relief making Vlad smile into it.

When they finally broke apart Robin was smiling too, cheeks dimpled and the mischievous glint in his eye that always spelled trouble. Vlad raised an eyebrow in question and Robin inclined his head towards the mirrored strip of wall behind them, bursting into laughter as Vlad turned around.

Faced with his reflection Vlad couldn't help but laugh too, until his chest hurt and he was slumped against Robin, trying to swipe his face clean as best he could.

He hoped Robin had learned his lesson.

Fangs and capes were one thing.

Fake blood and facepaint, well, that was quite another.


	68. Chapter 68

**_Robin sees something he shouldn't have; bit angsty. This was inspired by 'Getting Away With It' by Anne Cassidy, in both subject and writing style. =)_**

* * *

"I thought you were going round Vlad's tonight?"

Robin shrugged, keeping his eyes on the television and not on his mam. "He's busy."

Vlad had been his best friend for nearly three years, ever since he had moved to Stokely with his family. Vlad had been a geek back then, always buttoning his school shirt right the way up to the collar, and handing all his homework in on time. Nobody else had wanted to be friends with him.

But Robin had known something they didn't. Had worked it out the very first time he met Vlad.

Vlad was a vampire.

Not that you would have believed it then. He wouldn't even get his fangs until he turned sixteen, Vlad had had to explain. Robin had promised he wouldn't tell anyone and, from that day on, Vlad had spent all his spare time with him.

Lately though everything had changed. Vlad was fourteen now and looked more and more like a true vampire every day. His movements were always easy and graceful, and whenever they passed the girls in the playground they giggled and fussed with their hair.

"They're eyeing me up again," he would tell Vlad, puffing his chest out and trying to make a joke of it, "I'm irresistible, I am." Vlad would laugh and shake his head, and tell him not to be so vain. They both knew the girls were really looking at Vlad but it didn't seem to matter, Vlad never smiled back at them.

At least, he hadn't until one of them took the initiative. Kelsey Peterson had walked straight up to Vlad at lunchtime and asked him to go out with her. There was no way Vlad could refuse. Kelsey was the popular girl in their year. She had long blonde hair, and her lips were always full and shiny with gloss.

The other boys in their class would give their right arm to go on a date with Kelsey Peterson.

Vlad's right arm was still intact, and he'd been on ten dates with her now. Tonight was the eleventh. Robin had counted them because every time Vlad went out with Kelsey it was in place of hanging out with him. Robin thought of them together at the cinema, sitting close and laughing, and his stomach twisted.

His mam looked over at him curiously and Robin looked away deliberately. He didn't want her to work it out.

He was jealous.

**

* * *

**

Over the next few weeks Vlad spent more and more time with Kelsey. He sat with her at lunchtimes and held her hand under the table. After school Vlad would kiss her goodbye at the school gates before walking home with him.

Robin couldn't bear to watch it, the way Vlad tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at her like she was the most important person in his life. Before Kelsey had gotten in the way Vlad had used to smile at him like that.

He missed it.

Every time he arranged to do something with Vlad, Kelsey ruined it. If they stayed in to play computer games she would come round and sit too close to Vlad, running her fingers through his hair until Robin felt so uncomfortable he went home. If they went to the arcade Kelsey was always there with her own friends and Vlad would have to go and talk to her.

When Vlad had been seeing Kelsey for almost a month Robin lost his temper.

"You never want to hang out with me anymore!" He protested after Vlad had broken another arrangement to see Kelsey instead.

Vlad looked shocked. "That's not true. You're my best friend."

"Best friends don't ditch each other for girls." Robin told him, anger making him clench his fists and raise his voice.

"You can come with us if you want," Vlad said, "we're only going to the youth club."

Vlad just didn't understand, Robin realised. Couldn't see that he wanted to spend time with Vlad on his own. If Vlad were a good friend, Robin thought bitterly, he wouldn't need to explain it to him.

"Whatever." Robin said coldly, "You've never been a very good friend anyway."

He stormed off before Vlad could respond. Before Vlad could see how much he already regretted saying it. Everything was in a mess.

And it was all Kelsey's fault.

**

* * *

**

Robin felt guilty all evening, remembering the shocked look on Vlad's face when he'd shouted at him. If Vlad didn't speak to him again he didn't know what he'd do. Nobody else at school liked him. They were always saying things like, "Count, what are you hanging round with that freak for?"

Even his own brothers thought he was a freak. Without Vlad he'd have no one to talk to. Even if he did find someone, he'd never find another vampire to be his friend; that much Robin was certain of.

Eventually he decided there was only one thing he could do. He would have to apologise to Vlad. He hated apologising, admitting he was wrong. But if it meant Vlad would stay his friend, it would be worth it.

As he walked up the hill to the castle Robin thought about Kelsey. Before she had started making calf eyes at Vlad he had used to fancy her. Sometimes he had imagined what it would be like to kiss her, if she would taste of lip gloss and how soft her hair would be under his fingertips.

He never thought of kissing her anymore. Instead he pictured her with Vlad, his hand on her waist. It made him feel strange, sick and angry and sad.

He wanted Vlad to himself.

He wished Kelsey would just disappear.

Waiting for Vlad to open the door he felt suddenly nervous, heart leaping in his throat. What if Vlad told him to go away? When Vlad opened the door he looked surprised then smiled, bright and happy. The relief washed over him like a wave.

Vlad had forgiven him.

"I think she's given me the push," Vlad explained up in his bedroom. "She was supposed to knock for me, but she didn't. And she's not answering her phone."

Vlad seemed upset and Robin felt bad for being so happy. If Kelsey had dumped Vlad, everything would go back to the way it was before.

**

* * *

**

At half past ten Robin reluctantly shrugged into his jacket and told Vlad he would see him tomorrow. They were sat close on Vlad's bed and Vlad smiled at him, the smile Robin had begun to think would never be directed at him again, and it took all of his willpower to get up and leave the room.

If he didn't go now he would be late and his dad would punish him. Most people's parents would ground them for being late, but not his dad. His dad would make him go outside and play rugby, or force him to go to his scout troop with all the year eight boys.

His dad said he spent too much time with Vlad, holed up in his bedroom playing computer games. He said they should both go outside and get more fresh air. That he should be more like the twins.

Robin couldn't think of anything worse than being more like his older brothers. All they ever did was play sports. There was no point to it. At least when he was playing computer games, Robin thought as he clattered down the stairs, he was using his brain.

It was thinking about his dad that made him pause in the main hallway, glancing longingly towards the crypt. Vlad's dad would be down there in his coffin, he knew. Robin bit at his lip, hesitating for a long moment. Finally he came to a decision, being as quiet as he could as he walked through the archway and started down the narrow spiral staircase. It wouldn't hurt just to have a look.

The further down Robin went, the colder it got. The wall sconces kept flickering, casting monster like shadows that made his heart beat faster in his chest. Once he stumbled and had to put a hand out to keep his balance. The wall felt wet and slimy beneath his palm.

Robin had always wanted to be a vampire, even before Vlad came to Stokely. He had read every book about them in Stokely library and filled countless exercises books with stories and sketches. When Vlad became a real vampire Robin hoped that Vlad would bite him. That way they would be best friends forever.

He knew he was almost at the bottom when it got lighter, the candles from the crypt casting light up the stairwell. Robin slid along the last few steps cautiously, careful to keep out of sight. Vlad's dad was unpredictable; Robin didn't want to end up as a vampire snack.

The thought brought a smile to his face, he imagined rows and rows of colourful wrappers emblazoned with 'vampire snack'. Like chocolate bars on display at the newsagents he and Vlad always visited after school. He edged around the corner and the smile fled along with all the warmth in his body.

The Count wasn't in his coffin. He was stood, long finger-nailed hands digging into someone's shoulders. A girl's shoulders.

Robin felt weak, like his knees had turned to jelly and he might collapse to the floor. The girl turned her head away, her eyes bright with fear as they met his, and Robin had to cling to the wall for support.

It was Kelsey.

He had to do something. Anything. The Count leaned in closer, mouth wide, and then it was too late. Fangs sinking easily into the pale flesh of Kelsey's neck. She tried to struggle, the movements slow and laboured, as if she were under water.

Robin couldn't move. It felt like he was frozen to the spot, powerless to stop it.

And then she fell still, her whole body going limp so that she hung from Vlad's dad's hands like a rag doll. The Count looked up then, eyes black and blood smeared across his chest. He hissed and the noise made Robin jump, shocking his limbs into co-operation.

He took the stairs two at a time, running and running without ever turning back. There was nothing he could do now anyway. It was too late.

Kelsey was dead.

**

* * *

**

"Is everything okay?" His mam asked when he got in, her tone the one she had used to ask when he came in from school with bruises and blood on his shirt collar. He nodded and lied and stumbled to his bedroom.

Robin lay on the bed fully dressed, arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to stop the shaking. His heart was still pounding like he was running a marathon. He had no idea what to do.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the fear in Kelsey's eyes, the pleading. She had wanted him to help her and he had done nothing. Now she was dead. He wanted to be sick.

He should call the police, report it. But what would he say? Nobody would believe there were vampires in Stokely. They would think he was making it up, wasting police time. Or, worse, they might think he did it himself. All the boys in school would tell them about the cape he sometimes wore to school and Mr. Perkins would show them all the drawings he'd done of vampires for art.

His dad would say that he wouldn't put it past him and his mam would cry.

No, he couldn't go to the police.

Chloe, his sister, would think of something. But she didn't remember about Vlad. They had had to make her forget about vampires. She might force him to go to the police anyway. She wouldn't understand that he couldn't. Robin wished Vlad's sister, Ingrid, were there instead of Transylvania. She was heading the Council for Vlad until he was old enough to do it himself.

She would never have let it happen, she knew how much trouble it would cause.

Maybe he should tell Vlad. Robin knew straight away that he couldn't. Vlad would be devestated. If he found out what his dad had done they would move back to Transylvania and Robin would never see him again.

Vlad was the only friend he'd ever had. The only friend he was ever likely to have. Vlad could never find out about it.

Robin sat up, the shaking finally subsiding as his mind formed a plan.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

"Kelsey?" Mr. Jenkins looked up from the register, "Kelsey Peterson, has anyone seen her?"

Robin stared at the desk, every muscle tense. He was afraid they would be able to see it on his face. The guilt. He looked at his hands, at the dirt under his fingernails and clenched his eyes shut, holding his breath until Mr. Jenkins gave up and went on to the next name.

As soon as the bell went he went straight to the toilets and washed his hands under the hot tap, scrubbing and scrubbing until they were red and sore.

They still weren't clean enough.

At lunchtime Vlad sat next to him, worry written all across his face.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, touching one hand to Robin's, turning it over carefully to look at the scald marks that hadn't faded. Robin remembered Vlad holding Kelsey's hand and swallowed thickly.

"I'm okay."

Vlad didn't look convinced. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen." He took his hand away, "If it's about me and Kelsey," Vlad hesitated, "I am sorry."

Robin forced a smile. "It's nothing." Vlad changed the subject but Robin knew he hadn't bought it. It was one of the things he liked about Vlad. He always thought of other people's feelings. Robin tried to but he always seemed to get it wrong.

His last lesson was art and Mr. Perkins asked him if he wanted to go home. Robin glanced at his reflection in one of the mirrors they used for drawing self portraits and understood why. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and his skin was almost as pale as Kelsey's had been.

He told Mr. Perkins he was okay, that he just hadn't slept very well.

That was two lies. He hadn't slept at all. Instead he had gone back to the castle, had crept down to the crypt for a second time. Kelsey had not been lying on the ground like he had thought she would be, limbs sprawled carelessly. Her body was tense and contorted. Her fingers clenched into claws.

She had tried to crawl for help.

When he had left she hadn't been dead. He could have saved her. He _should_ have saved her.

Robin looked down at the piece of art he had been working on for the last three lessons. It was a picture of a vampire feeding on a pretty girl's neck. He didn't want to finish it anymore. He didn't even want to think about vampires.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw Kelsey's face, streaked with dirt and framed by her matted hair. Her eyes were slightly open when he laid her in the shallow hole he had managed to dig. It had felt like she was watching him. Accusing him.

Even with his eyes open she wouldn't go away.

She was dead.

And it was his fault.

**

* * *

**

"Isn't it terrible?" His mam asked when he got home from school the next day. Robin tensed, not sure what she might say next. His mam didn't seem to notice anything wrong with him. "About Kelsey Peterson, her mam and dad must be so worried."

Robin couldn't hold her gaze, and flinched when his mam touched a hand to his shoulder.

"I don't know what I'd do if you went missing, Robin."

"I'm not going anywhere," he told her, his voice sounding scratchy. Robin wished he could tell her the truth. That she would hug him and tell him it would all be okay.

Instead he said nothing and went to his room.

That night he dreamt he was back in the crypt, frozen as he watched the Count lower his head, fangs glinting in the candlelight. But this time it wasn't Kelsey in his arms. It was his little sister, Chloe. She looked at him, pleading, and still he did nothing.

Nothing as the blood was drained from her body.

Nothing as she crawled across the floor for help.

Nothing as she lay there alone, dying, her heart beating for the final time.

He woke up screaming and his mam came and hugged him. She stroked his hair like she had when he was very young, and told him everything would be alright. It didn't work this time though.

Because he knew it was a lie.

**

* * *

**

He was afraid to go to sleep after that, tried to force himself to stay awake. It didn't help. It felt like the eyes of the people in his drawings were watching him. Judging him. Just like Kelsey.

Robin took them all down and hid them under his bed.

Kelsey's mam and dad made an appeal on television. Her mam could hardly speak for crying, and her dad's accent sounded much stronger than it did in real life. They said they wouldn't be angry with Kelsey if she had run away, that they just wanted to know she was safe.

They begged anyone who had information to tell the police.

Vlad came round after it had been on television, and his eyes were rimmed red as if he had been crying. Robin felt angry at him for not knowing. For going out with Kelsey in the first place. If he had said no to her then none if it would have happened.

They went to Robin's bedroom and Vlad didn't even comment on the bare walls. Instead he sat on Robin's bed and fidgeted, twisting his hands together.

"Do you think it was my fault?" He asked suddenly, his voice almost a whisper. "Do you think she ran away because of me?"

Robin couldn't feel angry with Vlad then. "Don't be stupid, she really liked you," he told Vlad, cringing at the use of the past tense.

Vlad swiped at his eyes viciously, spreading moisture across his cheeks. "I know." He met Robin's gaze and his voice cracked, "But I don't think I liked her that much back."

**

* * *

**

It was three weeks after Kelsey died that Robin dared to set foot in the castle again. The police said it was now a murder investigation. They were searching for Kelsey's body.

They had questioned Vlad at the police station, taken his fingerprints and asked him if he had done anything to upset her. Vlad said he needed to talk about it with someone and Robin volunteered.

Perhaps if he did enough nice things to make up for it everything really would be okay.

When he knocked at the door Vlad's dad pulled it open, looking him up and down in the same slightly disdainful way he had a hundred times. This time Robin didn't think it was cool. It scared him.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you," the Count said languidly, studying his fingernails then fixing him with a piercing look. "I think you know what I'm talking about."

Robin swallowed and shrank back instinctively.

"I got a bit," the Count waved one hand about casually, "_carried away_ the other night. The best thing you can do is forget all about it."

Robin nodded. He thought of the nightmare he had had about Chloe and knew he had no other choice. It had never occurred to him before that night, but the danger had been there all along.

"Don't worry," the Count said as Vlad approached, clapping him on the back and making him jump, "It won't happen again."

Once they were upstairs, in Vlad's bedroom, Vlad asked,

"What was my dad talking about?"

"Nothing." Robin forced a smile. It felt more like a grimace. For once Vlad was too preoccupied to notice.

"Had to speak to the police again today." Vlad told him, running a hand through his hair. He looked ill, Robin thought. "I told them it was my fault she ran away."

Robin didn't say anything. Couldn't have even if he wanted to. His tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"I had an argument with her," Vlad went on, and Robin could see that he was crying again. "After you shouted at me."

"I'm sorry – " Robin tried to apologise. It didn't seem nearly as hard to say now. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. It couldn't change anything anyway. Vlad kept talking,

"I didn't think you even cared," Vlad shook his head, the words speeding up and merging together, "honest, I didn't. But then you said you did and I had to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

Vlad wasn't making sense; Robin couldn't work out what he was trying to say.

"I broke up with her," Vlad said, face scrunched up as if the memory hurt. Robin knew how that felt. He heard Vlad swallow, watched as he wiped at his face and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Vlad looked at him, eyes solemn,

"I broke up with her because I wanted to be with you."

* * *

Later they were lying together on Vlad's bed, Robin's arms wrapped around Vlad, pulling him close so Vlad couldn't see his expression. Even through his layers of sweaters Robin felt cold. Had felt cold ever since that night. He pressed closer to Vlad, soaking up his body heat and trying not to think of the fact that one day – soon - Vlad would be ice cold too.

"What if they never find her?" Vlad asked, voice thick with unshed tears. "What if something terrible has happened to her and it's all my fault?"

"It's not your fault," Robin said, his own voice sounding flat and numb. He tried again, "You didn't do anything to her."

You didn't leave her to die, he thought.

He wanted to tell Vlad. To hear Vlad tell him it wasn't his fault. That he hadn't meant to do it.

But what if Vlad didn't believe that? What if Vlad did blame him for her death? All this time he had been so worried Vlad would be angry at his dad; he hadn't considered how angry Vlad would be with _him_. Robin squeezed Vlad tighter, as if it could bind them together forever.

Then, even if Vlad hated him, he would never leave him.

"Do you miss her?" Robin blurted when the silence had begun to stretch.

"I do," Vlad said, in a way that made a 'but' imminent, "but not as much as I would miss you." Vlad's hand found his and Robin clenched it gratefully. "Does that make me a bad person?"

For a split second Robin almost said 'you're a vampire', jokingly, like he would have done before Kelsey asked Vlad out. Then it was gone and he was appalled at himself. Afraid at how true the statement would have been. Instead he moved until he could kiss Vlad, in the same way he had once imagined kissing Kelsey.

He didn't taste of lip gloss and Robin's stomach churned all the way through it, the image of Kelsey's blue tinged lips seared behind his eyelids. Vlad laid his head on Robin's chest afterwards, above his heart.

Vlad fell asleep there, his breathing evening out and Robin stared unseeingly at the ceiling, thought of Kelsey and her lifeless eyes seeing nothing but the soil covering her.

This was what he had wished for, he thought suddenly. For Kelsey to disappear. To have Vlad to himself.

He had got what he wanted.

And this - the fear pressing against the edges of his conscience, the constant guilt gnawing at his soul – was how he was going to have to pay for it.


	69. Chapter 69

_**Written for +gen_drabble prompt #49, "swing".**  
_

* * *

He had the most embarrassing parents in the entire world; there was no doubt about it.

"What do you think of this?" His mam would ask, completing a twirl, the swirling colours enough to make his eyes bleed.

"Very trendy," his dad would say. Then he'd nudge Robin and grin and tell him how lucky he was to have such hip and swinging parents.

Robin didn't agree.

His dad bored Vlad with all his bad jokes, and his mam always kissed his cheek in the street.

And they _still_ had the audacity to wonder why he wished he was adopted.


	70. Chapter 70

_**Cos I never write Jonno...**  
_

* * *

"He's a vampire!"

"Dad, he's not a vampire."

Jonno shook his head, glancing across the canteen to where Vlad was sat. He had known Vlad for almost four years now; they were in the same registration class. Jonno was sure he'd remember it if Vlad had ever done anything remotely vampiric.

"How can you be sure?" His dad asked, punctuating his point with a jab of his chip laden fork.

Jonno didn't answer.

It had been like this for as long as he could remember. His dad thought anyone who was a bit weird was a vampire. He had once tried to stake the albino boy who worked behind the till at the newsagents on the corner. Jonno had had to agree to do two paper rounds for _months_ in order to convince the owner not to ring the police.

And then there was the time they had been banned from the bowling alley because his dad couldn't distinguish between the undead and a group of acne ridden teenagers with plastic fangs.

Sometimes he thought his mum had had the right idea when she had upped and left.

Sometimes.

"He is a vampire," his dad said, oblivious to the thoughts swirling around Jonno's head, "and, this weekend, we're going to prove it."

**

* * *

**

The next day Vlad wasn't in school, their form tutor joked that he was celebrating his birthday a day early, and Jonno hoped his dad would forget about the whole thing.

His dad was like an elephant though, he never forgot anything.

He wasn't a big fan of mice either.

Maths was his last lesson of the day. Jonno looked forward to it because it was the one subject where everything made sense. There were no ifs or maybes in maths. Just numbers and facts.

Trust his dad to ruin it for him.

"Branagh," his dad was saying as he entered the classroom, "How many times have I spoken to you about using a phone in school?"

Robin frowned at him. "None, Sir."

"Don't backchat me, son." His dad was using his best teacher tone and Jonno cringed, slumping down into his usual seat. He was so embarrassing. "Hand it over."

"Aw, what! That's not fair!"

Jonno braced himself for it. The response he'd been getting ever since he had learned to form the words.

"Life is many things, Branagh, but trust me, it's never fair."

Robin threw his bag down on his own desk, scowling. His dad went about giving out the work Mr. Griffiths had left for them to do. Jonno clenched his hand around his pen so tightly he wondered if it might snap.

It was obvious.

This was all part of the plan.

**

* * *

**

Before his dad became _completely_ obsessed with vampires and they had had to move to Stokely, Jonno always had something to do. His mum would nag him to tidy his room or Martin, his best friend, would want to come round to play computer games.

Now he didn't even have anyone to go to the youth club with.

Nobody wanted to come back to the cramped caravan to have one of their teachers watch their every move.

His dad didn't understand.

This was what Jonno was thinking as he trailed miserably behind his dad, trying his best not to worry about where they were going. You never knew with his dad. Most of the time it was all he could hope that, whatever it was his dad wanted to do, it would be legal.

"Here we are," his dad said after they had been walking for about half hour, smiling all across his face.

Jonno looked around. There was nothing to see but trees and litter and dirt. His dad squatted down and brushed away a pile of empty crisp packets and coke cans, revealing what looked like a manhole cover.

"Help me lift it, will you?"

"I'm not going down a sewer!"

There was absolutely no way. He had done a lot of things to humour his dad. Tried to make friends with Vlad's even weirder best mate, Robin, and dressed up as a pizza delivery girl to deliver a garlic laden pizza to Vlad's older sister.

Neither scenario had ended well.

"This is not a sewer!" His dad exclaimed, huffing and puffing with the effort of lifting the heavy slab. "_This_ is my office."

For an awful moment Jonno had an image of his dad setting up a desk amongst the sewage, his shoes sliding in the filth as he drew up maps of the inside of Vlad's home. He wasn't sure if what he actually saw when his dad led the way down the ladder was any better.

The walls were lined with weaponry and paintings of their dead relatives, many clenching stakes in their hands.

Insanity clearly ran in the family.

"What is this place!?" Jonno demanded, wondering if the police knew about it, and how quickly his mum could get back from Scotland if they sent his dad away in a straight jacket.

His dad fished Robin's mobile phone from his jacket pocket, even though Jonno knew that confiscated items were supposed to be left in the drawer in the headmistress' office.

"_This_ is where we're going to rid Stokely of vampires. Forever."

**

* * *

**

This would never work. Never. Jonno wiped his sweaty palm against the leg of his jeans and stared at the screen of the phone again.

"I just want to talk to him," his dad had said, "there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Jonno felt stupid for believing him.

And, anyway, what if the rumours weren't true? What if Vlad couldn't think of anything he'd _less_ like to do than sneak out in the middle of the night to see Robin? Jonno thought of the way Vlad looked at Robin, the same way his dad was looking at his mum in the wedding photograph on the living room wall, and knew that his dad was right.

Vlad wouldn't be able to resist.

Still Jonno hesitated. Reading the text message – the directions - over and over. He didn't know which letters Robin would skip, and whether he would ever leave a kiss at the end. If it was too different Vlad would be able to tell and wouldn't come.

Maybe, it occurred to him suddenly, that would be better.

He would have tried, so his dad couldn't have a go.

Feeling relieved, Jonno pressed send.

**

* * *

**

Jonno was almost asleep, in spite of the biting cold, when there was finally a sign of life. He put down the book he had brought with him and wriggled his frozen fingers. He should never have agreed to it.

His dad should never have threatened to post his baby pictures around the sixth form common room.

"Robin?" Vlad's voice carried down from above ground, "Robin, are you down there?"

"Yes!" Jonno called then pulled a face, biting at his lip. He didn't sound anything like Robin. Nerves flooded through him. This was such a stupid idea.

He heard footsteps on the metal rungs of the ladder.

Vlad hadn't noticed.

Jonno looked around him nervously, eyeing up a crossbow fixed to the wall before pushing the idea away. It was bad enough as it was. He didn't have time to come up with a better idea because, then, Vlad was in front of him, expression murderous.

"I should have known," Vlad said quietly. Jonno couldn't tell if he was more angry or upset, he hoped for the latter. He'd be less likely to try and break his nose that way. "Where's your dad?"

"I don't –"

A loud bang cut him off and Jonno pushed past Vlad in panic, craning his neck to look up at the only exit.

Tonight couldn't possibly get any worse.

**

* * *

**

"It's not going to budge!" Jonno snapped half hour later, sweat trickling down the side of his face. Vlad had tried, he had tried, Vlad had tried again. They were stuck. When he turned to face Vlad the other boy's eyes were wild, and Jonno had to look away.

"It has to! You don't understand, it _has_ to!"

"My dad will be here soon," Jonno soothed, trying to calm Vlad down. His pacing was putting him on edge. He tried Robin's mobile again, the screen stubbornly remaining blank.

Vlad dragged a hand through his hair, kicking uselessly at the disconnected computer. "I _have_ to get out of here!"

"Look," Jonno said, suddenly angry. This wasn't his fault. "If you had to be somewhere that badly, why did you come here in the first place?"

Vlad's cheeks flushed then and Jonno wished he hadn't said anything. There was such a thing as too much information. He could imagine only too well what Vlad had expected to be doing right now.

He would never be able to look Branagh in the eye again.

"I didn't think it would take very long."

Jonno grinned then, in spite of everything. "I'll tell him that, shall I?"

Vlad gave him a withering look and shook his head, sliding down against the wall until he was sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes flickered up to the crossbow Jonno had been considering earlier, and he gnawed at his lip. Jonno shifted uncomfortably in the silence.

It stretched on for one minute, two, until he was sure Vlad wasn't going to say anything at all until someone came and rescued them.

And then it was broken.

"Do you know how to use that?" He was looking up at the crossbow again.

Jonno nodded. He had used one a few times, at archery club. But that had been years ago.

"Good," Vlad swallowed audibly, wringing his hands together and not meeting his eye. "Get it down. You're going to need it."

**

* * *

**

Jonno couldn't believe it. _Wouldn't_ believe it, he corrected desperately. It just couldn't be true.

"Promise me you'll use it if you have to." Vlad's voice was demanding, cutting through the numb disbelief.

Jonno looked from the crossbow in his hands to Vlad's earnest blue eyes, and back again. His dad had been right. Had always been right. It felt like déjà vu, like he had always known. The thought made him feel sick. Maybe he was hallucinating right now.

That had to be it.

He'd gone mad. The authorities would come and lock them both up, father and son.

Fingers snapped in front of his face, "Promise me!"

"Yeah," he managed eventually. It was all he could manage. "Yeah."

Vlad visibly relaxed, his limbs falling slack. Jonno chewed at the inside of his cheek and thought longingly, for what felt like the very first time, for the caravan.

**

* * *

**

"This is the worst birthday ever," Vlad complained as Jonno's digital watch flashed 2am. Vlad had his arms wrapped around himself, and even from the distance he had put between them, Jonno could see that he was shaking. "You're lucky I've already merged."

He didn't answer. Vlad wasn't making any sense.

Jonno realised with a start that the words had failed to produce mist in the icy air. His own heart started hammering in his chest and Vlad looked up at him intently, eyes glimmering strangely in the light of the dying fire Vlad had started.

It was a pretty good metaphor, Jonno thought with the part of his brain not cowering in fear.

Keep him talking, that had been what Vlad had told him to do. Jonno whet his lips nervously and scrabbled for a conversation topic.

"Does Robin know you're a vampire?"

It could get awkward, Jonno imagined. Cold hands. Cold _everything_.

Vlad pushed his hands into his hair and nodded viciously. "He wants me to bite him."

"Are you going to!?" Jonno tightened his hold on the crossbow. One bloodsucker at school was more than enough.

"Of course not!" Vlad protested. "I'm not going to bite anyone."

Jonno glanced at his watch and pressed a protective hand to his throat all the same.

It was going to be a very long night.

**

* * *

**

The next time Vlad spoke his voice was thick, as if he had been crying, and it made Jonno feel uncomfortable.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"I thought you were already dead," Jonno said, evading the question. He could remember, now, that he had already tried to kill Vlad. Over and over again. This entire situation was like a bad nightmare. He was a slayer. Vlad was a vampire.

To think that this morning his biggest problem had been convincing his dad to promise not read out extracts of his English essays in morning assembly ever again.

"You don't need to," Vlad started, sounding ever so slightly desperate, "I don't even want to bite you that badly."

That wasn't as comforting as Vlad obviously thought it was.

"We could make an alliance, you and me," Vlad went on, even as there was a scraping overhead, as his dad's worried voice echoed down from above ground. "We don't need to fight."

Jonno looked at the crossbow in his lap and tried to distinguish between memory and fantasy in his mind. It felt like his head was stuffed full of cotton wool. His dad was making his way down the ladder now, a few more steps and he would reach the bottom. He had to make a decision.

Vlad was giving him a pleading look, offset horribly by the flash of fang he caught. His dad rounded the corner, eyeing Vlad up suspiciously and asking Jonno if he was alright. The crossbow felt like a lead weight in his arms.

He knew what he had to do.

There was only one thing he could do.

"No, I'm not." He met Vlad's eye deliberately, crossing the room to take hold of his arm and usher him towards the ladder, "We've been freezing to death down here. You're lucky no one's locked you up, dad."

"It was an accident, Jonno!" His dad called after them, "I fell asleep!"

Above ground Vlad gave him a grateful look, holding out one hand, the other clenched tight as if he needed the help to stay in control.

"Do we have a deal then?"

Jonno sighed but held out his hand.

"Deal."


	71. Chapter 71

**_Another one from my __fic request post__. __josephtbr__ prompted ~ Vlad slips Robin a vampire aphrodisiac in an attempt to make him understand how he feels. _**

* * *

"_Where_ have you been?"

Vlad froze. He should have known he wouldn't get away with it. Nothing ever got past Ingrid.

"No, don't tell me," she cast a derisive eye over him from her seat at the dining room table. "You've been stalking Branagh again."

"I'm not stalking him!"

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "You're sneaking into his bedroom in the dead of night and doing I don't even want to know what to his unconscious form."

Vlad scowled and slumped down into the seat opposite her. Put like that it did sound a bit suspect. It wasn't though. He did have some self-control. Aloud he said,

"I just like to make sure he's okay, that's all."

"I bet you do," Ingrid said sarcastically, flicking through the magazine in front of her – Vlad felt his stomach churn at the sight of dismemberment as the page turn. "And I'm sure Branagh would appreciate it," she grinned nastily, "if he knew anything about it."

Vlad just scowled harder.

**

* * *

**

Later he lay staring at the lid of his coffin, wishing he could stop thinking about Robin and go to sleep. He wouldn't mind being able to stop thinking about Robin full stop, if truth were told.

Stop dreaming of Robin's crooked smile during Minister Tschetter's speeches, and stop dropping in to watch him sleep on the way back from Transylvania. Ingrid was right. It _was_ pathetic.

It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, if Robin wasn't so completely and utterly oblivious. He half wanted to get caught, imagining it was his favourite way to get through committee meetings. He would be reaching over, stroking Robin's hair away from his forehead and Robin would open his eyes. Vlad would freeze, his heart trying to kickstart in his chest with the shock, then Robin's eyes would fill with recognition and he'd smile up at him. Welcoming.

Vlad squirmed at the mental image, the back of his neck prickling with sudden heat. And, really, any thought of necks was a bad idea because now all he could think of was Robin's neck. Even in school he'd been enamoured of Robin's neck.

In English he had had to sit behind Robin and, by the time he was forced to drop out, it had been a constant battle not to just lean across the table and latch onto the taunting expanse of skin visible over the collar of Robin's school shirt.

He shifted again, tangled in his shroud, and there was a loud bang – as if someone were thumping a fist down against his coffin lid.

"You'd better not be doing anything you shouldn't in there!"

Ingrid's footsteps echoed across the crypt and Vlad buried his face in his pillow. He hated living at home.

**

* * *

**

"What do you think then, Vlad?" Robin grinned at him eagerly the next time they met up, holding out his forearm for inspection. "How cool is that?"

Vlad jumped at the excuse to sit closer, shifting along the sofa until their sides were almost pressed together. He peered at Robin's arm carefully, at the swirling colours and the tender skin beneath. He wondered suddenly if there had been any blood and had to look away.

"Did it hurt?"

"Nah. Well," Robin looked sheepish, "Maybe, a bit. It was worth it though."

"Has your dad seen it yet?"

Robin gave him an incredulous look, leaning back and shaking his head. "Nothing gets past him – you know what he's like. He's been snooping round in my room again too. My art folder was all rearranged."

Vlad kept quiet. He'd known he should have been more careful putting that back.

"I cannot wait until I can move out," Robin told him, tone world weary. It was like a light bulb flickering into life above Vlad's head.

This was, without doubt, the greatest idea he had ever had.

**

* * *

**

It was the _worst_ idea he had ever had. If it had been hard to stop thinking about Robin, now it was impossible. It was a relief to go to Council and not have to physically restrain himself from reaching out and touching.

Robin was as clueless as ever to the effect he was having on him, wandering around the place half naked and stroking his long pale fingers up the length of his throat, asking Vlad if he thought he should get inked there too.

With displays like that, Vlad wanted to tell him, he was hard pushed to think of _anything_.

He had tried to broach the subject with Robin, to tell him that he didn't want to just be flatmates, or even best mates. But every time he chickened out, too afraid of Robin's reaction. When he had originally told Robin that he thought he preferred boys it had taken ages before Robin began acting normally around him again.

And that had only been after he had reassured Robin he didn't like him _that_ way.

He didn't think he could bear it if he had to go through that again, Robin flinching away from him when he got too close, and glancing at him nervously whenever he thought he wasn't looking.

Ingrid commented on his dismal failure to make any headway the instant she next saw him,

"You should just hypnotise him and be done with it," she advised, "Get it out of your system."

"I don't want to hypnotise him!" Vlad scowled, Ingrid always knew just how to wind him up. "I just want him to understand how unfair he's being." Vlad dragged a hand through his hair, he felt constantly on edge. Lovesick. "It's driving me insane."

"You are looking more repulsive than you usually do," Ingrid told him calmly, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and his freshly dishevelled hair. Vlad shot her a withering look and made to get up and visit his dad down in the crypt. He'd scarcely done more than think about moving when Ingrid sat up straighter, snapping her fingers and grinning evilly.

"Leave it to me."

**

* * *

**

Vlad looked around the room in trepidation. There were thick cobwebs covering almost everything, and every time he moved _something_ crunched underfoot. Robin would love it.

Robin was the reason he was here.

"Your hand, Your Grandness." The wizened old vampire's voice was surprisingly deep and commanding, and Vlad was holding his hand out before he'd even had chance to consider it. Cool fingers slid up the skin of his wrist, the blade of the knife glinting as it was pressed to the pads of his fingers.

A single drop fell into the bowl and his wrist was released. Vlad sucked his fingers into his mouth, the blood tasted differently to how it did fresh he decided.

"This isn't going to turn him or anything, is it?" The murky liquid had turned a rich red, like wine, and Vlad wondered how he was supposed to get Robin to drink it. He wasn't that sophisticated.

"Certainly not, Your Grandness," the old man chuckled, siphoning the liquid into a glass vial and handing it over. "Just be careful. That," he eyed the vial pointedly, "is powerful stuff."

**

* * *

**

"Are you 'aving someone round?" Robin asked the following evening, frowning at the wine bottle and glasses laid out on the coffee table.

Vlad shook his head. Keep things simple, that's what Ingrid had said. Robin, she had been quick to point out, would drink anything so long as it wasn't him paying for it. It had seemed like sound advice at the time.

"I thought we could have a night in, I'm not working." Vlad pulled his ace, "We can watch Dracula." He stopped himself just in time from saying 'again'. Robin must know it word for word by now, he thought to himself as he waited anxiously for Robin's response. For a long moment he thought Robin was going to say no, but then his face lit up in a smile and Vlad felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Only to be replaced seconds later with enough nervous tension to make him feel sick. He couldn't really go through with this, could he? It was no better than hypnotism, not really. And, he knew with sudden certainty, mouth going dry as he watched Robin drop down onto the sofa and grab the bottle and the corkscrew, he would never be able to turn Robin away.

That was the plan. Robin would drink the stuff and it would drive him wild, hyper aware of every move he made. It would make him want him desperately. And Vlad would say no. Then, the next day, he would say that Ingrid had given him the wine and they would have a reason to talk about it all. He would tell Robin that that was how he felt every single second he spent in his company, and Robin would tell him he had always loved him and snog him senseless.

Okay, so maybe that last was wishful thinking but, at the very least, Robin would realise he couldn't help liking him and would start wearing a shirt around the flat.

Robin pulled the cork free and sloshed the dark liquid into first one glass, and then the other, handing him a glass with a grin. "Cheers!"

Vlad sipped at it; it wouldn't affect him. It was his own blood – or at least as close as it would ever get to being his own – making up the potion. He watched intently, waiting for Robin to do the same. The glass was pressed to Robin's lips, and Vlad's fingers tightened around the stem of his own glass. This was it.

And then there was banging at the door.

Robin clunked the glass back down, sighing. "Bloody typical."

**

* * *

**

"What's all this!?" Paul exclaimed, scooping up Robin's untouched glass and sitting down in his space. "Red wine? Right poncy pair of poofters, ain't you?" He drank a large mouthful. "No offence Vladdo."

Ian sat down next to his brother, side squeezed tight against Vlad. "Any more going spare?"

Robin glared at the pair of them. "What do you want?"

"Don't be like that, Robin," Ian said, in a less than sincere tone, "Can't we come and visit our favourite little brother?"

"Mam wanted us to check up on you," Paul elaborated, taking another long gulp of wine. Robin pulled a face and pushed a pile of magazines from the only other chair in the room, dropping into it sulkily.

Paul drained the glass and went about pouring another, and Vlad put his face into his hand.

This was a disaster.

**

* * *

**

Vlad smiled awkwardly, no idea what to do. Robin had stormed off to his room, taking offence to his brothers' comments on his latest piece of body art. Ian sighed, standing and swiping his jacket from the back of the sofa.

"Touchy little sod, he's getting," he complained, shrugging into the jacket. "Right, well, I'm off to meet Becky. You coming, Paul?"

Paul shook his head, "Nah, not yet, bruv."

Ian looked surprised, but shrugged it off all the same. "Suit yourself."

Before the door had even shut Vlad knew he was in trouble. There was hot breath in his ear and Vlad shivered in spite of himself.

"You're looking nice tonight."

Paul's eyes were wide and dilated, focussed on his lips as he slid one hand along Vlad's cheek. Vlad pressed back against the wall.

"You're looking really nice."

He suddenly understood why Paul didn't have a girlfriend.

And, then, there was mouth on his, tongue pushing wetly into his mouth. Vlad kissed back instinctively, the _heat_ of it mind blowing. Hands pushed at the hem of his shirt, trailing up his sides, and the solid weight of another body pressed against him. He pushed his own hands into Paul's hair, anchoring him in place.

Dimly it occurred to him that if he couldn't find the willpower to push Paul away, he would never have been able to resist Robin for longer than half a second.

"Vlad."

He forced his eyes open, surprised at how like Robin Paul sounded. What he saw made him jerk away from Paul, guilt sinking low in his stomach.

Robin was staring at him, disbelief written across his face and Vlad felt sick. Paul, oblivious, tried to kiss him again, and Robin stormed from the room for the second time that night.

**

* * *

**

"I'm so sorry, Robin," were the first words out of his mouth the following morning. "I'm really _really_ sorry."

"What 'ave you got to be sorry for?" Robin asked frostily, refusing to even look at him. "If you want to shag my brother, that's your own business."

"I _don't_ want to shag Paul!" Vlad protested, frustration making his voice rise. Why couldn't Robin see what was in front of his face?

"Yeah," Robin sneered, "It really looked like that, an' all. The way you were sucking his face off."

Vlad wanted to explain, start from the beginning and tell Robin the whole sorry affair, but he didn't get chance. Robin took one look at him, grabbed his jacket, and slammed out into the mid morning sun.

**

* * *

**

It was late afternoon and Robin still hadn't returned. Vlad felt restless, irritated. It was cowardly to just disappear all day, when he knew full well Vlad couldn't follow him. He was sat in Robin's room, staring at the wall, when there was a knock at the door. For a moment he debated not moving, let Robin stay outside and suffer. If he'd forgotten his door key, that was his problem.

There was another knock and Vlad got up. He'd always been a pushover when it came to Robin. When he opened the door however it wasn't Robin stood awkwardly on the doorstep.

It was Paul.

He'd obviously come straight from rugby practice and Vlad had to force himself to keep his eyes on the other man's face as he let him in.

"About yesterday," Paul started, fidgeting uncharacteristically, "I dunno what came over me. The drink…" He trailed off.

"It's alright," Vlad said as levelly as he could. They both knew it would have taken a lot more than a couple of glasses of wine for the alcohol to start to have _any_ effect on Paul.

"You're not, ah," Paul tried again, "you're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"I won't," Paul didn't have chance to enjoy the feeling of relief as Vlad went on, "But I can't speak for Robin."

Robin chose that moment to slam in through the front door. His eyes were bleary, as if he had been drinking.

"Well ain't this cozy?"

**

* * *

**

"You're drunk," Vlad accused, glad Paul had had the sense to make himself scarce. He got the impression they wouldn't be getting any more unannounced visits for a while.

"'m not drunk." Robin smiled mirthlessly. "'m merry."

Vlad glanced at his watch. He was going to be late for Council if he didn't leave within the next five minutes. Still, he sighed and sat next to Robin. This had to be done. "Paul wanted to know if you'd told anyone." He swallowed his pride, "Please don't, Robin."

Robin smirked, "What's in it for me?"

"Don't be such an idiot," Vlad felt his temper rising. If it got out he'd done this he'd never live it down. His dad would hear about it, and he'd find out about the potion, and The Sunblock would tell everyone he couldn't even practice what he preached. "He was just drunk. It didn't mean anything."

"So," Robin fixed him with an intense look, enough to make Vlad forget why he was supposed to be annoyed. "If I kissed you now it wouldn't mean anything?"

"That would be different." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Why's that then?"

Robin was suddenly a lot closer, one hand dropping to Vlad's arm. Vlad was glad he was already sat down; his knees didn't feel strong enough to be able to support him. He couldn't have answered if his unlife depended on it. Robin shifted closer still, until their noses were almost bumping.

"It might not mean anything to you, Vlad," the words were breathy, and Vlad squirmed under the focussed attention, "but it would to me."

With that his watch alarm started beeping and Robin pulled away, shaking his head. Vlad got the feeling he had just been dismissed.

**

* * *

**

He thought of Robin's declaration all through Council, the intricacies of the proposed Trans-Siberian Marital Property bill falling on deaf ears. Of what it could mean. Of what he hoped it meant.

When he got in he went straight to Robin's room, ignoring the inviting prospect of his coffin and the possibility of getting some sleep, and knocked sharply at the door. Robin squinted at him when he opened it, hair sticking in all directions.

"We need to talk."

Robin gestured for him to come in. Vlad sat on the edge of Robin's bed nervously, going over and over in his head what he had planned to say. Robin got in first,

"I don't think this is working. I've spoken to my mam about it, and she says I can move back in."  
Vlad gaped. "_What!?_"

Robin shrugged, not meeting his eye, "It'll be for the best."

"For who?" Vlad persisted. "This is stupid; I already told you there's nothing going on between me and Paul."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Robin was visibly agitated, pacing the room. Vlad couldn't help but fixate on the expanse of pale collarbone visible underneath Robin's half buttoned shirt. "If you don't fancy me, well, that's your loss. But snogging my brother in front of me? That's just not on, Vlad." Robin seemed to run out of steam, looking at him grimly. "It's not fair."

Vlad scarcely dared to believe his ears. "What do you mean, it's not fair?"

"You know what I mean," Robin told him, folding his arms across his chest.

"If you're talking about you not bothering to mention any of this to me, and letting me spend the last few _years_ trailing round after you like a lovesick puppy – " Vlad was getting into it now, registering the way Robin's eyes widened with satisfaction " – Letting me make a total idiot of myself trying to show you how I felt. Then, yeah," he nodded viciously, "I'd say that was pretty unfair."

He was on his own feet now, in front of Robin, the other boy staring back at him in shock. Then there were hands on his shoulder, Robin's eyes soft.

"The wine an' that?" Robin asked. He broke out into a grin then, Vlad's stomach twisting hopefully at the sight of it. "Vlad, you don't need to put all that effort in to make an idiot of yourself. You _are_ an idiot."

"Shut up," Vlad shot back, grinning in spite of himself.

"Make me."

Vlad pulled the taller boy down until their lips were almost touching,

"You asked for it."


	72. Chapter 72

**_Finally finished a wip from like October. It bears very little resemblance to what it was but, nevermind, the important thing is that it is finished. It was originally a halloween fic ~ is there anything more terrifying than a Mary-Sue? Lol._**

_

* * *

  
_

Susan Ivanescu was the new girl at school. She had long, wavy dark hair, and wide green eyes. She was popular and pretty and her skirt was so short Robin was sure that, if he watched for long enough, he was bound to catch a glimpse of _something_.

It wasn't just him watching either, Robin noted. Jonno Van Helsing's eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head. Not that he had a chance. A girl like Susan wouldn't be interested in a drip like Van Helsing.

Next to him Vlad was watching too, although he seemed less than impressed. "I don't know what's so interesting about her."

"Her skirt," Robin grinned, looking pointedly in her direction as she sat down.

"You shouldn't even be looking," Vlad sniped, picking apart his dinner. "You're supposed to be with _me_."

The comment irritated him, even as he recognised, deep down, Vlad probably had a point. It was the way he was making it, Robin decided. There was no way he was about to let Vlad start telling him what he could and could not do.

Aloud he said, "I was only looking, Vlad. There's no law against it."

Vlad glared harder. "There ought to be."

**xXx**

The air between them was still thick with tension when the bell rang for afternoon registration. Susan smiled at him as he sat down, and he smiled back eagerly, aware all the time of the way Vlad was glaring at her, the fingers of one hand curled into a fist.

When Mr. Griffiths called his name Robin even caught a flash of fang, a sure sign Vlad was in a terrible mood. He felt sorry for Vlad, really. He had had to give up scouts and rugby, and even chess club because he couldn't control his temper. He was getting worse with every passing day, in Robin's opinion. It was kind of exciting.

"Count, Branagh; a word." Griffiths called as the rest of the class filed out. Robin looked to Vlad for explanation but the other boy just shrugged tightly. "It's about Susan," Griffiths started.

"What, you want me to work with her?" Vlad cut in, tone sarcastic, "Because her English isn't good enough and I can translate for her."

Griffiths gave him a withering look, "I've seen your last English report, Count, don't be an idiot." He turned his attention to Robin, "Mr. Perkins is organising an art project and he wants you and Susan to work together on it. Go and see him at the end of the day."

"What did you want to see me for then?" Vlad asked, frowning.

Griffiths smirked. "Fighting in the corridor. Ringing any bells, Count?"

Robin gave his best friend an apologetic look and left them to it.

**xXx**

Later, they were sat together in Robin's bedroom playing computer games. He hadn't had the game long, and Vlad had never played it at all, his inexperience obvious. Robin could hardly keep the triumph under wraps; he hadn't managed to beat Vlad at anything in weeks.

"Yes!" He hissed as his victory finally flashed across the screen, fingers protesting as he unclenched them from around the control pad. "What 'appened to your enhanced vampire powers then?"

He was expecting Vlad to pout and sulk, maybe even demand a rematch. He wasn't expecting Vlad to throw his pad to the floor and storm to his feet, anger pouring off him in waves.

"Come on, Vlad," Robin grinned, resting his chin in one hand, looking up at him, "Don't be a sore loser now. Just admit it; I'm a better player than you are." Vlad's jaw was twitching, shoulders tense and he couldn't resist pushing further. "I'm waiting."

Vlad didn't open his mouth; instead he flung himself at him, shoving him back against the bed, hands digging painfully into his shoulders. Robin stared, eyes wide, at the cruel twist to Vlad's mouth, and the black swamping the bright blue of his eyes.

It made his heart thump wildly in his chest, uncertain whether Vlad was going to kiss him or punch him. Even when Vlad finally made his choice, clacking their teeth together with uncoordinated enthusiasm, Robin couldn't shake the feeling that there hadn't been a lot between it.

xXx

He was worrying at his bottom lip the following day, waiting for Susan so they could make a start on their project. The flashes of pain reminding him of the fact Vlad had managed to draw blood. Moving to suck at his neck possessively and trailing bruises down to his collarbone, pressing against him with purpose like nothing they had ever done together.

"Have you fought?" A thickly accented voice cut through his thoughts, making him blush although its owner had no way of knowing what those thoughts had been about. "You are injured."

"It's nothing." Robin shrugged hurriedly, feeling suddenly nervous. Susan was already so popular, more popular than he'd ever been. Than he was ever likely to be with Vlad's weirdness dragging him down.

She smiled then, knowingly, setting down her sketchpad. "So, it was _that_ kind of fighting. You are with Vlad, yes?"

Robin hesitated, not wanting her to think badly of him. To laugh at him in the same way all the other popular kids did, sniggering and smirking and shoving at him in the corridors. But, even if he denied it she would find out the truth soon enough. He nodded slowly, waiting for her reaction.

"I knew it," she grinned, "Romanians are just _irresistible_."

**xXx**

Over the next few weeks they worked together regularly, and Robin was surprised to find that, as well as being pretty, she was really good company. Girls usually did their best to avoid him; even Chloe could never get wait to get rid of him lately.

It made him feel better about himself every time she laughed at his jokes, or smiled at him in greeting, as if the rest of her group weren't sneering down their powdered noses at him. He felt terrible for thinking it but, if it weren't for Vlad, everything would be perfect.

Because when they were together she was always asking about Vlad; how was he, what were his hobbies, how long had they known each other? It made him feel guilty for wishing she would ask about _him_ instead. She was only trying to be polite, asking him about his boyfriend.

It was a shame he couldn't say the same about Vlad, being polite that is. The other boy just kept getting worse. He was acting more like Ingrid, temper always hanging by the thinnest of threads. And nothing seemed to grate on it more than the time he was spending with Susan.

"Who's that?" Vlad demanded as his phone bleeped, trying to peer over his shoulder as he dug the handset from his pocket. Vlad's arm was wrapped around his shoulder, and Robin tried to cover the screen with his hand to stop Vlad looking,

"None of your beeswax."

"It's her, isn't it?" Vlad sat up properly, forcing him to face him, tv forgotten. "Show me."

Robin glared at him, "It's my mam if you must know. And," he went on, "Even if it was her I wouldn't show you. It's nothing to do with you."

For a moment he thought Vlad was going to argue back; his eyes were dark and hard and Robin found himself holding his breath. And, then, it was gone.

"I'm sorry, I just don't like her."

"She's my friend," Robin protested, but let Vlad pull him back to his side, to rest against him. "And she's got a boyfriend." He knew that was the real problem. It was sweet, really, Vlad being so jealous.

"She fancies you," Vlad said, dropping a kiss into his hair to soften the vicious tone.

"Of course she fancies me," Robin squirmed, getting comfortable, "I'm well fit."

For once, Vlad didn't even laugh.

**xXx**

Vlad wasn't placated for long however. He wanted to know where he was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. Every second of every day. At least that was the way it felt.

It was testing his patience.

Susan picked up on it the instant he walked through the door of the art room.

"Have you argued with Vlad?" She asked, eyes soft and concerned. Robin wanted to tell her, to explain how unreasonable Vlad was being. He couldn't, he knew. Nobody would be able to understand that it wasn't Vlad's fault. So, he just looked away,

"I don't want to talk about it."

She didn't push it, changing the subject. "It is difficult when you spend much time together," she told him matter of factly, "I often want to wring Jonno's neck."

"Jonno?" Robin frowned. Susan was seeing Darren Hicks from the year above. He had a car and everybody said he was going to spend his career doing great things out on the football pitch. Jonno, even now he'd stopped trying to stake anyone who looked a bit pasty, was a serious comedown.

"I'm staying with the Van Helsings," she told him casually. "On a church exchange."

"So you're into all that bible basher stuff?" Robin grimaced; there was no way she wouldn't take that badly. Mr. Van Helsing was really into it though. Once a slayer, always a slayer. He had lasted all of about three weeks after having his memory wiped before he'd spotted him in the town centre handing out flyers for the local evangelical church. It was probably only a matter of time until he remembered his 'real' calling.

Susan shrugged, carefully putting the finishing touches to a painting. "Some of it." She straightened up, giving the sheet an appraising look. It was all dark and death, Robin had chosen it. Mr. Perkins was entering it into a competition. Robin thought it would be the first time Stokely Grammar had won anything. Susan smiled at him, "The youth club's alright. You should come."

Robin didn't answer, staring down at his own worksheet. Vlad would go mad. Susan gave him a searching look,

"You can bring Vlad." She shrugged, and moved to put her equipment away. "If you want to."

**xXx**

He and Vlad had been going out for nearly a year now. He had had to tell the Count he was the reason Vlad wasn't out and about creating new Draculas, and his own parents that they might never get a daughter-in-law out of him. But he had never felt anywhere near as nervous doing that as he was telling Vlad he was going to take Susan up on her invitation.

"You can come with me," he finished hastily, unable to read the tense expression on Vlad's face. Vlad was unpredictable lately. One minute he might be trying to put his fist through a wall, the next sobbing his eyes out.

Right now he looked like he was going to go with the former. "You know I can't."

"Why? Because you're jealous someone else likes me?"

"No!" Vlad protested. "Because it's in a church."

Robin couldn't really see Vlad's point. "It'd be really cool. We can see if all that fire and brimstone works on you." He scrabbled for the chain around his neck, hoping some humour might help Vlad calm down. He'd make a good movie slayer, all set on ridding the world of vampires until one seduced him.

Vlad didn't seem to think it was funny.

"What are you wearing that for!?" He was eyeing up the cross suspiciously, as if it hadn't been an integral part of his handsome – but brooding – goth look for as long as they had known each other. "Did _she_ put you up to this?"

"Why are you so obsessed with her?" Robin countered angrily. "You're doing my head in, Vlad! If you don't want to trust me," he hissed, wanting to hurt Vlad the same way the other boy's constant suspicion was hurting him, "I can give you a reason."

Vlad grabbed hold of his arm then, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise. "You wouldn't dare!" Robin glared at him, gaze flickering from Vlad's hand to his face, before wrenching free of his grip.

"I can do what I like."

**xXx**

At the club he couldn't think of anything but Vlad. The wide eyed look of shock on his face when he'd walked out, and the cold look in his eyes when he'd lost his temper. He wanted to talk to Vlad, wanted Vlad to apologise and start acting more like himself. Like he used to.

Richard Price broke through his thoughts. "Ugh, Branagh what are you doing here?"

"You made it then?" Susan asked from his side, ignoring Price's outburst.

"Yeah," he shifted awkwardly, "Vlad was busy."

"Good," Price said. "He's a proper freak."

Obviously trying to keep the peace, Susan spoke hurriedly, "Do you still want to get some night pictures? For the project. Richard's volunteered to be our corpse." She pressed tighter to him and Robin thought he had a good idea how she had managed to get Price to agree to it. "You should bring Vlad," she went on, "he'd make a good vampire."

Price snorted, "He won't 'ave any choice. Don't do nothing unless Count gives you permission, do you Branagh?"

Robin scowled, thinking of the argument he'd had with Vlad.

"So will you come?" Susan pressed. "We're going to do it tomorrow."

Vlad would hate it, Robin thought. Price smirked at him and he made a decision. He didn't care what Vlad thought.

"I'll be there."

**xXx**

When he got home his mam called him into the kitchen, expression solemn. "Vlad's up in your room, he's very upset. I told him you'd be hours but he wanted to wait for you."

"It's never a good sign that," Ian told him from his place at the kitchen table, "means he's feeling guilty." He nodded to himself, speaking around a mouthful of biscuit, "Been off to that forest without you, 'ave he?"

Robin gave his brother a withering look and left the room, starting up the stairs with a heavy sense of trepidation.

Vlad startled when he pushed the door open, looking up at with red rimmed eyes. "I'm really sorry, Robin." His voice was wobbly and Robin wondered how long he had been crying for. "I shouldn't have done it."

"You're right," Robin told him, remembering the way Price had laughed at him for acquiescing so easily to Vlad. "You shouldn't 'ave." He rubbed at the bruises forming on his arm, "It was bang out of order."

"I know," Vlad murmured, barely audible. "What am I going to do if I can't control it? The truce with the slayers will be broken. You'll leave me." He looked like he might cry again and Robin felt his chest constrict, like his heart were aching at the sight. He wanted to tell Vlad it was okay, and that he understood. But, if he did, they'd be right back to square one.

He wasn't a pushover.

"Maybe we _should_ cool things off for a bit," he said, proud of the way his voice stayed steady. That was the kind of thing people said on TV when they wanted to prove a point, wasn't it? Vlad's face crumpled, as if he'd punctuated the point with a kick to the ribs.

"You're going to dump me?"

Vlad looked a mess, one hand running through his hair and the other swiping fresh tears from his cheek. Robin faltered,

"I don't _want_ to."

"Please don't," Vlad latched on to his indecision, the pleading in his tone forcing Robin to look away. "I'll try harder to control it, I promise. You can see her as much as you want, I won't say anything. Just please –"

Robin gave in and hugged Vlad to him, the other boy's tears soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt. In return Vlad clung to him, moving his head to press shaky kisses to his neck.

"I don't want to be a vampire," he told him, words muffled against skin, and Robin pulled him closer understanding, for the first time, that Vlad might have a valid point.

**xXx**

His mam was desperate to find out what Vlad had been upset about the next day. Robin could feel the weight of her concerned gaze on the back of his neck as they trailed around town, couldn't help but pick up on her hinting that he might have something to tell her. By the time they ran into Mr. Perkins he was wishing he'd tried harder to get out of going with her.

"Oh," His mam said to him, touching a hand to the man's arm and being embarrassingly over familiar, "I wanted to say thank you for getting Robin involved in this project. It gives him something other than computer games to focus on."

Robin scowled.

Mr. Perkins looked flustered, "It was all Eric Van Helsing's idea. He found out about the competition and suggested Susan and Robin." He gave Robin a smile, "He's going to go far, this one." Robin cringed, counting own the seconds until his mam let the man go on his way.

"Did you hear that, Robin?" Mrs. Branagh was saying before his art teacher was even out of earshot, "and you always say Mr. Van Helsing doesn't like you. You need to give people more credit."

For some reason, it just made him feel uneasy.

**xXx**

Part of him didn't want to have to face Vlad. He knew it would be awkward. But, if he went to meet Susan without seeing Vlad first, for all his assurances to the contrary, he was sure it would make things worse.

Ingrid answered the door, looking him up and down in distaste. "What have you been up to Branagh? His Blandness is acting like even more of a drip than usual."

Robin squirmed. "Nothing."

She didn't look convinced, but let him in all the same. He found Vlad up in his room, with his homework balanced across his lap.

"I don't know why you're bothering," Robin said, looking pointedly at Vlad's English book, "You'll be leaving soon anyway." He knew it had been the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth.

"I don't know what to do, Robin," Vlad told him, expression grim. "I didn't think it would be like this. I never thought I might not be able to control myself."

"You'll get used to it," Robin suggested.

Vlad shook his head. "It'll be too late by then." He fixed him with a solemn look, "You know the terms, the slayers can attack in self-defence. They _knew_ how hard it would be."

"It's going to be okay," Robin lied, shifting to sit close to Vlad, curling their hands together. "I know you can do it." He pressed a kiss to Vlad's cheek, responding enthusiastically when Vlad turned his head to kiss him properly.

"Do you still need a vampire for tonight?" Vlad asked when they came up for air. "I can wear my new cape."

Robin hesitated. He had been wanting Vlad to get involved for weeks and, now he was offering, he didn't want him there. Vlad was watching him carefully and tensed up, voice overly casual when he spoke,

"If you want me to. I don't have to come."

He felt guilty then, because Vlad was making an effort, and put a hand to Vlad's cheek, so his thumb was stroking along his jaw. "Of course I want you there." Vlad smiled and he kissed him again.

He was just being paranoid.

**xXx**

It was nearly dark when they reached Stokely graveyard, and it made him feel proud when Vlad's grip on his hand tightened. Price and Susan were already there; Price had fake blood dripping down the side of his face, and Susan was wearing a long black dress, her face deathly pale, although he could see streaks at the back of her neck where the paint hadn't been properly applied.

"You made it then," she smiled at him, and Vlad's grip tightened still further, although this time it wasn't in apprehension. "Have you got your camera?"

Robin nodded and held it up, watching as Vlad retrieved his cape from his bag and pushed in the plastic fangs he had given him for the occasion. "Let's get it over then, shall we?"

It didn't take long, not once they'd finished fiddling with the torches they'd brought for lighting, and Price had finished warning Vlad that he had better not touch him anymore than was necessary. Afterwards, when Price was busy scrubbing at the joke shop blood with a towel, Susan suggested they should take some more pictures of the headstones.

Vlad wanted to leave, he could tell. His shoulders were tense and hunched, and he couldn't stop fidgeting. But, it wouldn't take very long, and he didn't want Price to think he couldn't make decision for himself. And, so, he found himself posing Susan against a weeping angel, trying not to think of the look Vlad had given him as he had led her further into the graveyard.

"We'll 'ave to go in a minute," he told her, "We'll be in trouble if we get caught."

"You worry too much," she said, leaning in to peer at the pictures he had already taken. She slid a hand along his shoulder and he froze, pulse thundering in his ears. "What people don't know, can't hurt them." She pressed closer still, sounding much louder, "What _Vlad_ doesn't know – "

He should push her away, he thought desperately. Someone else made the decision for him, pulling Susan's hand away roughly.

"I knew it!"

"It's not what it looks like!"

Vlad wasn't listening, expression twisted with something that made Robin feel afraid. Susan just smirked at him, flicking her long hair over her shoulder and meeting his cold gaze with confidence. "Go ahead, _Count_," she smirked wider, the shadows cast by their torches making her features harsh and angular, "It's taken you long enough."

"Vlad," Robin tried again, touching his own hand to Vlad's arm. "Leave her alone." Vlad just shook free, baring his teeth. His fangs were clearly visible but Susan didn't even look surprised. Instead she goaded him further, one hand on her hip,

"Too much of a wimpire, aren't you? No wonder he's looking elsewhere."

Robin caught sight of something in her hand, even as Vlad lunged at her. He didn't have time to think about it, consider his actions. "No!" He barely registered the yell was his own, pulling at the collar of Vlad's cape and forcing him to the ground, pinning him in place with his body weight. Vlad snarled at him and he wondered if he ought to try slapping him across the face to snap him out of it.

It didn't seem like the best idea he'd ever had.

Vlad screwed his eyes tight shut then, brow furrowed as if in pain. Robin felt relieved; he was going to fight it himself. He glared up at Susan instead, gaze lingering on the stake in her right hand.

"I'll report you to the guild. You were trying to trick him."

"Don't be stupid," she hissed, "I _am_ the guild." She shook her head in obvious frustration, "I've been undercover for _weeks_." Robin thought of what Mr. Perkins had said, about Van Helsing arranging for them to work together, and knew it must be true.

She opened her mouth to say more when Price lumbered into view, pulling a face as he took in the scene. "Bloody hell, show some respect why don't you?"

Robin realised, suddenly, that he was straddling Vlad on top of someone's grave. He moved back sheepishly. Price shot him one last look of disgust before turning his attention to Susan, biting at his lip and smirking lecherously,

"Still up for coming round mine then?"

Susan looked from Price, to him and Vlad and back again, scowl deepening. "In. Your. Dreams." She stormed off, Price following close on her heels, not ready to believe he'd just been given the brush off.

"You just saved my life."

Robin turned to face Vlad, shocked to realise it was true. He shrugged, trying to act casual. "I know. I'm just amazing."

Vlad helped him to his feet, keeping hold of his hand. The collar of his cape was crooked, and there was mud streaked across his cheek. But it didn't matter. Even if Van Helsing had remembered it didn't matter. They'd put a stop to his attempts once, they could do it again.

"I wouldn't have done anything with her, Vlad," he told him, liking the way the moonlight played across Vlad's pale skin, as it emerged from behind the clouds. "Honest."

"I know," Vlad smiled at him, soft and genuine like he hadn't in months, "I'm just amazing."

Robin shook his head, grinning, and dragged him towards the gates. Everything would be okay. They'd make sure of it.


	73. Chapter 73

**_Drabble written as part of a meme I did the other day. :)  
_**

_

* * *

  
_

"Not chicken, are you Branagh?"

"No!" Robin protested, glancing from Vlad to Ingrid and back again, expression a mixture of horror and resignation.

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" Ingrid smirked, folding her arms across her chest. "Get on with it."

"It _is_ a dare," Robin explained then, apologetically. Vlad didn't get chance to respond because Robin didn't waste any time, crushing their mouths together with all the finesse of a battering ram, pulling away quickly and swiping the back of his hand across his face.

Ingrid just grinned at Vlad,

"Don't say I never do anything for you."


	74. Chapter 74

**_Written for +fandomwords100, prompt ~ memories.  
_**

_

* * *

  
_

"Can't say I blame him," Ingrid told him dismissively, leaning against the doorframe and looking around her with a sneer of distaste. "I want to stake myself at the thought of spending ten minutes with you. Even Branagh isn't a total masochist."

"If that's how you feel," Vlad ground out, swiping viciously at his tear stained cheeks, "why are you in my room? Why don't you just go away and leave me alone?"

Ingrid grinned, taking in his blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. "Because this," she smirked still wider, "is the kind of moment I want to commit to memory."


	75. Chapter 75

_**Written for +chromaticvision on Insanejournal.**_

* * *

_September 2006_

**The first rule of slaying is: always be on your guard.**

At least, that's what my dad always says. My dad, you see, is a total loony. He actually believes in vampires. That was why we had to move to Stokely in the first place; he got it into his head that Mrs. Peterson, my old headmistress, was a paid up member of the undead club. He had her pressed up against the back wall of the cookery block with a six inch stake before the caretaker could pull him off of her.

My mum didn't know about the slaying until after they were married, she told me. One night she came downstairs, all swollen ankles and baby bump, to find him sharpening a stake. And that's not even a euphemism.

She tried hard to understand, she really did. When dad stayed up all night staring at the night sky for the flap of bat wings she laughed it off. When he bought her strings of garlic for their wedding anniversary she grinned and beared it. The thing with Mrs. Peterson was the very last straw.

The police said he needed a straight jacket, not a night in the cells.

**

* * *

**

**The second rule of slaying is: know your enemy.**

This is kind of hard when your enemy only exists in your mind. My dad is convinced Vlad Count is a vampire, spends all his time up at the castle spying on Vlad's dad with his binoculars. I try to tell him, make him see sense. He'll only end up back at the police station with a restraining order and his name on some register.

He doesn't listen, he never does. It drives me mad because there's only _one_ thing Vlad Count is.

A weirdo.

No, scrap that.

A _total_ weirdo.

**

* * *

**

**The third rule of slaying is: never let the vampire escape.**

It's a good job slaying is all in his head because my dad wouldn't stand a chance. He can't boil an egg without setting something on fire. That's when I miss mum most, when it's beans on toast for the sixth day in a row and all my socks have turned grey in the wash.

Mum rings every other day after school. She asks about the caravan, and school and anything but dad.

I feel sorry for him and relieved for myself.

I wouldn't want to be a slayer.

**

* * *

**

_September 2010_

**The fourth rule of slaying is: once a slayer, always a slayer.**

I never really thought about this one until after. After my dad had been proven right. After Vlad Count had me pressed up against the back wall of his dank little crypt, fangs directed straight at my neck. Just _after_.

We weren't supposed to remember, none of us. Not even Branagh, and beating heart aside, he's more of a vampire than Vlad could ever be.

My dad would have been proud of me, I know.

It doesn't help much, not really.

I'll never be proud of myself.


	76. Chapter 76

_**Written for the prompt - 'Robin really doesn't want to be like his family, so he pretends to hate any kind of sports. But at night he isn't strong enough to ignore the desire for his secret and oh so normal obsession: playing basketball. What happens when Vlad catches him?'**_

* * *

"What's wrong with you today then, Branagh?"

"Sore throat, Sir," Robin said, holding out his week planner. "My mam's written me a note."

"Me and your mam ought to have a chat," Jenkins said, snatching it from Robin and glancing at the note. "Someone needs to tell her what an idle little scrote you are."

He shoved Robin's planner back into his chest and Robin grinned at Vlad cheerfully. Vlad just shook his head. Robin had been his best friend for three years but he was no closer to understanding him. He knew there was nothing wrong with Robin's throat – he hadn't stopped talking all the way through their previous lesson.

"Right!" Jenkins bellowed, clapping his hands together and demanding everyone's attention. "I want the rest of you out on the pitch five minutes ago. Move!"

Vlad hung back, trusting the crunch of football studs against the changing room floor to drown out the sound of his conversation,

"You should play," Vlad said. "It's boring without you." He watched as Robin wrestled a book from his backpack. '_How to Date a Vampire_' It was emblazoned with a broody teenager with a strong jaw and an even stronger resemblance to Robert Pattinson.

Sometimes Robin really asked to have the mick taken out of him.

"Obviously," Robin preened, leading the way out into the brisk autumn air. "But you'll just 'ave to survive without me."

Some of the girls passed them, meandering their way up to the hockey courts. They took one look at Vlad's bare knees and burst into giggles. Vlad blushed. So what if he wasn't built like a prop? At least he made an effort.

Which was more than could be said for Robin.

"I just don't like sports," Robin went on, "they're a waste of time."

Before Vlad got chance to disagree Jenkins was yelling his name and demanding he shift his backside. Convincing Robin would have to wait.

**xXx**

Vlad's hair was still damp from the changing room showers when they left the school gates, and he couldn't help wishing Robin had played. He knew it was selfish but it didn't stop him thinking about it.

If Robin did games, he'd have to shower afterwards. And that meant, if you thought about it – And he had. Did. Roughly every thirty seconds. – Vlad would get to watch. It was enough to make his cheeks burn.

"See," Robin told him, giving him a friendly nudge, "sports just knacker you out. You're still all red in the face."

Vlad almost told him that that wasn't from the rugby. Almost.

"You wouldn't catch me running around out there like a headless chicken," Robin went on. He looked so solemn as he said it that Vlad couldn't help smirking,

"No, you might work up a sweat. Couldn't have that could we?"

Robin shrugged, "Some of us just got better things to do with our time. Did you see those girls checking me out earlier? Outside the gym?"

"They weren't checking you out." Vlad said, giving Robin an incredulous look. He'd never met anyone vainer than Robin. And he had Ingrid for a sister and Count Dracula for a father.

"Of course they were," Robin assured him, looking at him with an expectant air. "Who wouldn't?"

Vlad didn't answer.

**xXx**

That weekend Vlad found himself sat at the Branagh's kitchen table, eating giant slabs of home made chocolate cake alongside Robin and the twins. Robin was busy sucking chocolate from his fingers and Vlad was struggling to decide whether it would look worse if he stared at Robin's mouth, or the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed.

"You coming for a kick about later, Vlad?" Ian asked, polishing off his own dessert.

He spent a lot more time with the twins since getting onto the upper school rugby team. The look of disgust that flashed across Robin's face at the question summed up how the other boy felt about the situation. Vlad quite liked it really, that Robin got jealous. It made it so much easier for him to daydream about Robin liking him back.

"Don't worry, Robin," Paul chipped in, taking in his brother's sour expression. "We wouldn't ask you." He smirked, "We all know that the only part of you that gets any exercise is your right hand."

"Haha, yeah," Ian grinned, "never gets a rest that don't, do it?"

"Shut up!" Robin scowled. Vlad deliberately didn't look in his direction.

"Boys," Mrs. Branagh scolded, bustling about the kitchen. "Robin's a very talented artist. If he wants to draw, he's perfectly entitled to."

The twins looked at each other and burst out laughing. Robin gave them both a withering look.

"You could still come," Vlad suggested, doing his best to ignore the way the twins sniggered harder at his word selection. "You're really good at football. Remember in year eight? You made the team no problem."

"Oh, that's nothing," Mrs. Branagh chipped in, giving the twins a warning look as they wiped at their eyes. "You should have seen him in primary school. We've still got all his medals."

"From football?" Vlad asked, surprised. He imagined an eight year old Robin, all dimples and grazed knees, and smiled. There were bound to be pictures somewhere. He'd have to find one and tease Robin mercilessly.

Paul started laughing harder, and Robin ground out, "don't tell him", in low tones.

Mrs. Branagh, oblivious, smiled widely, "Netball."

Vlad didn't even get chance to think of a suitably witty remark before Robin was out of his seat and storming towards his bedroom.

"Robin!" Mrs. Branagh called, "you haven't finished your cake."

There was no answer but the slamming of the kitchen door and a yelled,

"I hate you!"

**xXx**

"Go away!"

Vlad hesitated, Robin sounded pretty serious about it. But then, on the other hand, he couldn't just leave Robin to be upset on his own. Robin might want him to put his arm around him and be comforting.

Sometimes Vlad worried there was more vampire cunning running through him than he liked.

He pushed the door open softly, blinking as his vision adjusted to the gloom of Robin's bedroom.

"You deaf or something?" Robin snapped, not looking at him. "I told you to go away."

Vlad sat next to Robin on his bed, looking around the room. The walls were covered in drawings of fanged out vampires; some of them even looked like him. He wondered if Robin ever lay there staring at them, thinking of him. When he turned back to Robin the other boy was watching him curiously.

"I've never played netball," Vlad said, floundering under Robin's gaze, "you could teach me." There was silence for a moment and Vlad held his breath anxiously. He didn't want Robin to have another go at him. Then Robin smiled, and he could breathe again.

"I don't play anymore, give me some credit."

There was something about the way he said it that made Vlad give him a searching look. Nothing odd jumped out at him. So he smiled back and inclined his head towards Robin's television.

"Am I going to give you a kicking at Vampire Orgy Six, or what, then?"

**xXx**

After that Vlad tried to leave the subject alone. If Robin didn't want to kick – or throw – a ball around, well, that was his business. And if Vlad spent great chunks of his free time imagining what Robin would look like flushed and short of breath, perhaps streaked in mud and fringe falling across his forehead _just so_, then, nobody needed to know about that either.

It was probably because he spent so much time thinking about it that, when he first saw it, it didn't quite seem real. Just another one of his pathetic little daydreams.

The thing that swung it was that they didn't normally occur when his dad was holding up a half dead rabbit for him to sink his teeth into. (Bar that one time, but the less said about that, the better.)

"Vladdy," the Count whined, "you're not paying attention."

"I am," Vlad protested distractedly, peering behind his dad to the darkened sports courts. The park was normally deserted at this time of night, which was why he invariably ended up there for biting practice.

Anything for an easy life.

"I wonder why I bother," the Count went on, tone anguished. "I just want to give you the best start to your unlife."

Vlad bit back a sigh, "I know."

The Count perked up, "Yes, well, I'll leave you to it then." He pushed the rabbit into Vlad's hands, "there's a pig at old McElroy's farm with my name on it. Yes," the Count went on, oblivious to the look of disgust on Vlad's face, "I've been keeping my eye on it. If I can't savour the sweet taste of slayer's blood," he gave Vlad a pointed look at that, "pig is the next best thing."

"Great, dad, yeah. Have fun."

The Count disappeared then without further ado and Vlad shook his head, leaning down to deposit the rabbit – it squirmed a bit, it might even be alright, he thought – before wiping his hands on his cape and making silently across the grass.

Vlad stood in the shadows, watching the lone figure on the court through the high mesh fence. The rhythmic 'thump, thump, thump' of the ball against the ground was enough to convince him it wasn't netball. Robin had dragged him to go and watch the girls practice more than once.

He'd much _much_ sooner watch this.

From his vantage point he could see Robin rake his hand through his hair, bouncing the ball a few more times before shooting. Vlad was surprised when the ball went straight through the hoop, and then wondered why. Mrs. Branagh had already told him Robin had the talent.

Vlad stayed and watched for twenty minutes, until Robin swiped at his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt, picking up his jacket and making for the park gates. He dawdled all the way home, trying to think of what to do next.

He had to bring this up with Robin.

But how?

**xXx**

"Get up to much last night?" Vlad asked Robin as casually as he could on the way to school the next morning.

"No," Robin replied, "Just went on the computer. Same as usual."

"All night?" Vlad fidgeted with the strap of his backpack.

Robin frowned, "Yeah, why?"

Vlad bit his lip, "No reason."

**xXx**

They had games last lesson and Robin had yet another note, Mr. Jenkins' face going red with suppressed rage as he read it and signed it off. Vlad shifted from foot to foot, wondering how best to phrase what he had to say, as Robin pulled another book from his bag.

'_Blood Ties: Vampires and Me_' The dust cover proclaimed it to be 'a heart wrenching tale of cold blooded love'.

Vlad pressed on,

"Are you sure you weren't doing anything last night?"

Robin stared at him. "Why would I 'ave been?"

"I just –" Vlad bit his lip. "I mean, you can tell me, you know? If you were doing anything."

"Vlad," Robin frowned, gaze intense, "are you trying to tell me something?"

He should just spit it out, Vlad knew. But then he'd have to admit that not only had he been skulking about watching Robin, he'd also been out and about killing small animals. Robin got weird about that; people were acceptable snacks, cute furry animals were not.

With that in mind Vlad shook his head. "Course not."

**xXx**

And, so, over the next few weeks Vlad kept quiet about what he knew. He found that Robin went out to play basketball at least twice a week, scaling the fence at the park to use the court.

He also found that the reality of watching Robin get hot and sweaty was even better than the fantasy.

And he made sure he did watch, telling his dad he wanted to practice hunting on his own. He'd never been so glad Ingrid was so busy putting her stamp on the Inner Council back home in Transylvania. She would have seen through him as soon as look at him.

It was close to the end of the school year, air sticky and humid, when Vlad got to the park to find Robin shirtless. Vlad thought the sight certainly put paid to the twins' accusation that Robin only ever exercised his right hand.

Not that Vlad would mind watching that either.

The ball clattered against the fence, catching Vlad's attention. When he looked up his heart leapt in his chest. Robin was staring right back at him.

**xXx**

"I-"

"-can-"

"-explain."

They both halted awkwardly, Robin running an anxious hand against the back of his neck. Vlad thought it really wasn't helping, how was he supposed to think when Robin was stroking at his neck like that?

"You look really good – looked really good. Looked. On the court I mean." Vlad looked down at his feet, sure his cheeks were glowing. His skin felt too hot and itchy, and all he wanted to do was _touch_ Robin.

"Really?" The tone was eager and Robin coughed, "I mean, I know. That you've been watching."

Vlad risked glancing up. For once Robin looked as embarrassed as he himself felt.

"I've seen you," Robin went on, looking sheepish, "I hoped you'd be here tonight."

Vlad met Robin's gaze properly then, the statement sparking hope in his chest. Robin had expected him to turn up, and he'd _still_ chosen to wander about half naked for the meeting.

"You could have told me," Vlad said, voice coming out soft and quiet and not at all accusatory, like he'd wanted.

Robin smiled, crookedly, in the way that always made Vlad's pulse race, "You could 'ave told me. You can tell me now," Robin continued, expression suddenly earnest, "why you want to watch me."

Vlad swallowed. This was it. There was no way he could lie his way out of it, not without coming up with something that sounded even worse.

"Why do you think?" Vlad asked, trying hard to keep his gaze on Robin's face and not on his chest – or his neck.

Robin took a breath, like he was sucking up courage, "Because, you, like everyone else in Stokely can't resist checking me out?"

Vlad gaped and all the colour drained from Robin's face.

"Or not."

If he didn't say something _right now_ Robin was going to walk away, Vlad knew. Walk away and his chance would be gone. The thought spurred him into action and he reached out blindly, closing the distance between them to lay a hand on Robin's arm.

"No, you're right. As usual."

Robin smiled then, wide and brilliant, gaze flickering between Vlad's hand and his face. "I've been trying to get you to _notice_ me for months, you know."

"All those terrible books?" Vlad asked, remembering suddenly.

"What do you think?" Robin asked, pressing closer still, sliding his hand around the back of Vlad's neck and leaning in to kiss him.

Vlad didn't bother with an answer.

**xXx**

"So why are you playing at night then?" Vlad asked later, leaning into Robin's side as they walked back from the park. "You're really good, even the twins would be impressed."

Robin stopped dead, looking at him with a horrified expression.

"You can't tell the twins!"

Vlad frowned, "Why not?"

"Why not!? Because if my mam and dad hear about this, I'll never hear the end of it." Robin shook his head, "Next thing you know they'll 'ave me camping, and helping with scouts, and _everything_."

Vlad just grinned and shook his head, taking Robin's hand. "And that would just be terrible, wouldn't it?"

Robin nodded,

"Exactly."


	77. Chapter 77

_**Cannibalised a WIP for this, it's my submission for dark_fest ~ prompt: Robin / Vlad, 'we don't want the same things'. Title is from The LostProphets; as is this intro from "A Town Called Hypocrisy":**_

**"Because its not enough  
Now we're growing up  
We had given up  
We're moving on."**

* * *

"Nah," Paul shook his head, clambering back out of the enclosed space, "it ain't happening."

Darren frowned, peering into the gap, "What we need is someone lanky enough to get head and shoulders through." He eyed up Paul's broad shoulders with an air of disappointment. "Once they're in, we can push."

"Look at it!" Ian protested, "Where are we going to find someone scrawny enough to fit through there?"

Three sets of eyes simultaneously fell on the same figure. Robin swallowed. He didn't really get along well with any tight enclosed space that wasn't a coffin. Especially not one he was certain was full of spiders.

"Come on Robin," Darren wheedled, "We've got to get cracking with this job. Once the taps are off we can make a start."

"Don't be such a sissy," Paul said less kindly. "Get over 'ere an' I'll give you a leg up."

Trying to drag it out Robin stepped forward, swiping his sweaty palms against the fabric of his – Ian's castaway – tracksuit bottoms. Before he had chance to rethink it Paul had hold of one leg, Ian the other, and he was being shoved up and in. The gap was so narrow his chin was almost scraping the bottom, even as the top of his head hit against the ceiling.

It was thick with dust and grime and he could feel it smear his arms as he squirmed in further. Cobwebs brushed against his face and he clenched his eyes shut, trying not to breathe.

"Can you reach it yet?" Darren called.

Robin reached a hand out blindly, scrabbling for the tap. He'd never thought plumbing could be any worse than he'd imagined. Finally his fingers found purchase and he twisted the valve, Darren calling praise.

That was when the real problems started. He tried to push with his hand against the far wall to shift backwards, but nothing happened. He felt hands wrapped around his ankles, pulling. And still nothing happened.

Panic instantly flooded through him, legs kicking futiley in an attempt to get free.

"Keep still!" Ian called, "You're going to wedge yourself tighter!"

His arms started shaking, fear overriding common sense. _Something_ crawled across the exposed skin of his neck and he started flailing desperately, skin prickling all over as if there were thousands of spiders around him. There could be for all he knew, he thought wildly, cold sweat making his clothes stick clammily to his skin.

"Calm down!" Darren's voice sounded anxious. Robin heard him dimly over the crashing in his head. "We ain't insured for this." And, "He got in; he must be able to get back out! Pull harder!"

He could die in here, it dawned suddenly. Cramped and dark and alone. It wasn't until there was give, his shoulders aching beyond all reason as the twins wrenched at his legs, that he realised he was crying.

* * *

"Let me see," Johnson said gently, upturning a bottle of antiseptic onto a clean cloth. "That's a proper nasty cut."

Robin looked away, headache forming with the effort of fighting the urge to cry again, but held his arm out dutifully. In this stance he could see himself in the far mirror, the tear tracks streaked through the dirt on his face, the cobwebs still clinging to his hair and clothing.

"If they ask you to do something you don't want to," Johnson went on, ignoring Robin's hiss of pain as he dabbed at the wound, "You just 'ave to say no. Do it once an' they'll expect it all the time."

They were practically the same age and Robin couldn't decide if he was angry or grateful for the way Johnson was mollycoddling him. Of everyone he'd met since starting with the firm, Johnson was the only one remotely tolerable. And that, for the most part, was only because he tended to keep his mouth shut.

Ian and Paul never stopped, telling everyone about all the embarrassing things he had done as a kid and laughing when he could barely lift his tool kit from the floor.

"I was the same when I started." Johnson moved on to the next cut. "Don't think old Whitson's doing you an' your old man a favour by taking you on." He smirked, "He ain't paying us enough for that."

"I'm only here cos I 'ave to be," Robin told him bitterly, swiping one hand across his face, trying to obliterate the evidence of his crying. "I didn't choose it."

Johnson shot him a sympathetic smile before clicking his fingers and staring at him anew. "That's it! I knew I knew you from somewhere. You're friends with Vlad Count, aren't you? You used to come and watch him play rugby."

He had, it was true, gone to watch Vlad play a few times. Freezing to death in the icy Sunday morning air, all for the happy smile it had put on Vlad's face to see him there. And the opportunity to ogle at Vlad in a pair of shorts.

He'd been such a loser.

"Does he still play much?" Johnson asked.

Robin shrugged, months of pent up hurt and frustration behind the simple motion. "I doubt it."

Johnson gave him a speculative look, but didn't comment on it, working instead on packing away the first aid kit. Robin leaned over the sink, splashing his face with cold water. When he looked back up it was for Johnson to meet his gaze in the mirror,

"Remember what I said. Sometimes you just 'ave to make things easier for yourself."

* * *

He did remember it, sat alone in his bedroom, the sound of Ian and Paul laughing as they retold the tale to their parents filtering up through the floorboards. The truth was obvious. He'd waited. And waited and waited.

Nothing was going to change.

Problems had been brewing for a long time. A lot longer than he normally let himself admit. But the turning point – the real turning point – had been the day Vlad got his first fang. They had been at lunch, Vlad bemoaning Renfield's choice of sandwich filling and he hadn't been able to keep quiet about the flash of elongated incisor he'd sighted.

Vlad, instead of being excited or happy or even resigned, had gone into a full scale panic. Staying in the boys' bathroom long after the bell for registration rang, looking close to tears as he stared at it in the mirror.

He hadn't gone to school the next day, or the day after that. Robin had gotten up extra early the next – it had been a Friday, he could still remember – and went to knock for Vlad, determined not to take no for an answer.

The castle had been eerily silent, the door creaking open at his touch. There had been more than a hint of trepidation settling around his chest as he climbed the stairs, nervous tension spiking as he pushed Vlad's bedroom door open.

It had been dark and musty, as if the window hadn't been opened for days, and Vlad was still in bed although his eyes had been ringed with huge black circles.

"Are you coming?" He had asked, frowning as he took in the mess in Vlad's room. Vlad had used to be quite tidy, much tidier than he was, at any rate. "Jenkins is doing his nut that you missed that rugby match."

His best friend – and no matter what anyone had said since they had been best friends - had sneered at him, hissing in a way that hadn't been at all natural. "I don't play rugby. I'm a vampire."

"I know," he had shaken his head, "I worked it out before you did." Back then he hadn't thought twice about sitting on the edge of Vlad's bed, reaching down and scooping Mr. Cuddles from the floor and raising a questioning eyebrow at Vlad. He had grinned – no, smirked – and said, "He'll be getting lonely, Vlad."

Vlad had stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then he had reached for it and clutched it close, curling into the blankets, face pressed into his pillow, muffling the sound of his sobbed, "I don't want this."

He had sat uncomfortably, patting at Vlad's shoulder awkwardly and telling him everything would be alright, thinking anxiously of morning registration and his already abysmal term report.

The next week Vlad had attended every day, went to rugby practice and, when he went round in the evenings, he saw that Mr. Cuddles was always propped carefully against Vlad's pillows. But it was too late, things had already changed.

It just took him a painfully long time to realise it.

* * *

"Look at this!" Darren called a few days later, laughing as Robin struggled with a bundle of piping. "You want to get down the gym!" He pinched at his arms, "Work up some muscle."

"Muscle? Robin?" Ian scoffed, "You must be jesting!"

Paul nodded, "No chance there. Look at him!" He scrubbed a hand through Robin's hair and Robin jerked away, scowling. "That's why your boyfriend went off you, wasn't it?"

"His what!?" Darren exclaimed, falling about laughing.

"Vladdy Count!" Ian laughed, "Love of his life."

"Wouldn't visit a forest with anyone else, would you?" Paul sniggered.

Darren looked genuinely shocked, "You being serious? He's got a boyfriend?"

"_Had_," Ian stressed. "Had a boyfriend. Vlad got bored of him, didn't he?"

"You can't blame him, can you?" Paul shook his head.

It was there, in that moment, Robin made the decision.

**xXx**

Before Vlad he'd sometimes thought that maybe life would be better if he tried to fit in. Stopped staying up all night with his telescope and checking out every book on vampires in Stokely public library. Pretended to be interested in sport and scouts and sunshine.

Then Vlad had arrived and, for a while, he'd believed that he didn't need to be anyone else. Vlad, for all his pale perfectness, had been so terminally uncool. The two of them freaks together.

Forever.

That had been what Vlad had promised the night before his transformation, tears streaking down his face, salt tinged kisses as they'd curled together on Vlad's bed. He'd been so desperate to believe after everything that had happened, had clung to Vlad like a lifeline as he dropped his guard, admitted things he'd never told anyone.

No matter how much the memory makes his chest twist, pain like stabbing knives, it's still better than what Vlad had told him the day after.

He had never been anything more than a mistake.

**

* * *

**

Later he stared at the stranger staring back at him from his bedroom mirror. Vlad wouldn't recognize him, he thought with an odd sense of hollowness; he barely recognized himself.

This wasn't what he had wanted. None of it.

He'd once imagined doing this in front of Vlad, he remembered as he pressed the cool blade to his wrist. _For_ Vlad.

But Vlad was never coming back.

And now, he clenched his eyes shut as the pain spread still deeper, he wouldn't either.


	78. Chapter 78

_**Written for +fiction_drabbles prompt #51 ~ 'black'.**_

* * *

"Everyone's looking at us!"

"Don't be stupid, Vlad," Robin told him easily, as if they weren't surrounded by women's underwear. "What do you think?" He asked, holding up a strip of skimpy material the same colour as Vlad's cheeks and grinning lecherously, "Red or black?"

Vlad didn't particularly want to think about Delila in either, so shrugged helplessly, the back of his neck hot with embarrassment.

"Definitely the black, love," a woman's voice cut in.

Robin frowned at her and she elaborated, "I don't think red's your colour!"

Not even the murderous expression on Robin's face could stop Vlad laughing.


	79. Chapter 79

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

Ian laughed. Paul laughed harder.

"_You_," Chloe paused to shake her head in disbelief, "have a date?"

Vlad shifted awkwardly at the hurt look Robin couldn't quite keep off his face.

"Chloe! Your brother is… mysterious." Mrs. Branagh smiled in triumph at her choice. "Girls like that."

A flush stole up Robin's neck; nobody noticed but Vlad, who always watched closer than he should.

Paul scoffed, "like the weirdo goth child is interested in girls."

"It's not a girl," Ian clarified in a way he clearly thought helpful.

Mr. Branagh frowned in confusion, "But you just said he had a date."

"He does," Paul confirmed.

Vlad rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms against his jeans.

"He's stood in front of you," Ian howled with laughter. Paul doubled over, tears falling freely as he pointed at Vlad.

Chloe gaped.

Mr. Branagh stuttered and ahhed before falling silent.

Mrs. Branagh managed an "Oh." around her shock.

Vlad felt sick.

And then, finally, Robin spoke.

"I dunno what's so funny. I'm a great catch."

Later, thighs touching as they sat on a bench in the corner of the hall, Stokely Grammar's annual Valentine's dance in full swing around them, Vlad couldn't help but agree.


	80. Chapter 80

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

When Robin Branagh was thirteen years old, he was obsessed with vampires. He knows because his mother loves to tell anyone and everyone he brings home. She pulls out a photograph album and points to a picture of two boys in capes and plastic fangs. Laughs as she recalls how Robin and 'his little friend' Vlad spent hours pretending to be members of the undead.

His friends always smile politely and crack an inane joke about going easy on the garlic in future. Robin just stares at the photograph and wonders why he can't remember. Why 'his little friend' is a total blank in his memory. Why the only relevant thought that ever comes to mind when he tries – and he _has_ tried – to remember is 'vampires don't exist'.

* * *

When Vladimir Dracula was thirteen years old, he was obsessed with breathers. He knows, as if he could ever forget, because Ingrid loves to tell anyone and everyone who steps foot in the castle. She pulls out his old school photographs and points out two teenage boys. Scoffs and sneers as she recounts how desperately 'little Vladdy' wanted to be normal like his repulsive breather friend, Robin Branagh.

Their guests always smile politely – not everyone has the luxury of being a blood relative of the Grand High Vampire – and crack a lame joke about how it's always the ones you least expect. Vlad just stares at the photograph and wonders why he cannot forget. Why his 'repulsive breather friend' consumes his thoughts like nothing else. Why he still has Robin's cape balled up in the bottom of his wardrobe. Why, even with everything he's seen and everything he's done, he still classes the moment he was forced to convince Robin that vampires didn't exist as the worst of his entire life.


	81. Chapter 81

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :) Song fic type thing using Darius' 'Colourblind'.**_

* * *

"**Feeling blue when I'm trying to forget the feeling that I miss you."**

"Get lost, loser," Ingrid said without looking up.

"I'm_ not_ a loser," Vlad sulked, flinging himself down into the nearest chair and sighing.

Ingrid turned a page of her magazine languidly, "Could have fooled me." Smirking she put it down and caught Vlad's gaze, "I suppose it depends on your definition, doesn't it? I'd say, being _dumped_ by your loser boyfriend for some loser girl makes _you_ the biggest loser who ever lived." She shrugged, "Un-lived, whatever."

"He didn't _dump_ me," Vlad scowled. "It was a_ mutual_ decision," he paused, trying to think of something that sounded plausible. Drawing a blank he finally snapped, "I don't care anyway."

At Ingrid's raised eyebrow Vlad got to his feet,

"I've got better things to do."

Ingrid watched calmly as he stormed towards the doorway, mouth twitching with the effort not to laugh when he tripped over a loose flagstone.

Vlad spun to face her, flushed with anger, "And, I'm_ not_ a loser!"

Turning her attention back to the magazine - 'Good Mourning! Black is Back!' – she shook her head as Vlad's footsteps retreated back down the hallway. He was _such_ a loser.  
**

* * *

**

"**Feeling green when the jealousy wells and it won't go away."  
**  
"What about your friend?"

Vlad cursed his sensitive hearing as _she_ whispered in Robin's ear, having the unfeeling, uncaring, barefaced cheek to_ giggle_ as she did so. He scowled harder and tried to make himself feel better by imagining her lost at sea. Without a life jacket.

"Vlad don't mind," Robin whispered back, his hands wandering to places Vlad really wished they wouldn't whilst he was in the room. Or ever. He really wasn't fussy. "He's watching the film."

The giggle came again and Vlad shovelled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing viciously. Robin's suggestion that they 'see other people' because 'we're both so young' and 'not because I don't like you Vlad, because I do' had seemed a lot easier to deal with when he didn't have to witness its consequences firsthand.

"Good," she pressed closer to Robin, Robin's breath hitching for reasons Vlad really didn't want to dwell on, "_this-"  
_  
His second handful of popcorn missed his mouth entirely, scattering all down the front of his best shirt at the realisation of just _what_ was happening. He watched in shock as Robin's eyes slid shut, the pair of them so close she was almost in his lap.

"- doesn't need an audience."

"_No_," Robin shook his head, voice breathy and strained.

On screen there was a scream, the old couple in front of him jumping in shock and Vlad made his decision, scrambling to his feet and hesitating for a moment that seemed to last an eternity before dumping the popcorn bucket down over Robin's head.

Everyone, he reasoned as he pushed his way out into the cinema foyer, had their limits.

* * *

"**Feeling yellow, I'm confused inside."  
**  
"Vlad, I-"

Vlad slammed the castle door in Robin's face, the force rattling the dusty chandelier overhead, and stormed back up to his bedroom. When he got there he slammed his bedroom door too and, just for good measure, flung the framed picture of him and Robin on his dresser at the wall.

Ignoring Ingrid's yell for him to 'shut up and stop being a freak' he dropped down onto his bed, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Eventually he settled on the day Robin left Stokely to start his art course; the day he'd gone from being Vlad: best friend and love of my life, in Robin's mind to Vlad: millstone round my neck.

It wasn't fair.

He was still thinking about how unfair it was that Robin would rather go out, and take advantage of anyone who showed willing, than – Vlad curled in closer to his pillow – stay in and take advantage of _him_ when the sound of scrabbling outside his window made him sit up in panic. He moved closer to the window, ready to club _whatever_ it was when Robin's voice rang up through the still night air,

"Help, Vlad! Quick!"

Vlad reached over and _pulled_ at Robin's arms, finally succeeding in dragging the other boy up and over the ledge – and sending them both sprawling backwards to the floor.

"What are you doing!? You idiot! You could have killed yourself!"

Robin turned his face to the side, completing the uneasy sense of déjà vu; reminding Vlad of _that _day, the day when Robin had collapsed through his window and wormed his way so deeply into Vlad's heart he'd never had any hope of getting rid of him.

"Go on. You can if you want. Punch me. I deserve it."

"I'm not going to hit you, Robin," Vlad sighed and shook his head, "even if you _do_ deserve it."

Robin grinned at him, "Thanks, Vlad. It would have hurt. A lot." The smile fell and he looked at Vlad nervously, his dark eyes making Vlad squirm and his chest ache with longing. "I am sorry, Vlad. Really, I am. Are we still friends?"

"Yeah," Vlad clenched his fingers into the rug beneath him, struggling with the urge to just fling himself at Robin and beg him to never let go, "Yeah, of course."

What other answer could he give?

**

* * *

**

"**Feeling red**** when you spend all your time with your friends and not me instead."  
**  
The moment he stepped through the door Vlad felt terminally out of place; his striped sweater was attracting more than a few malicious stares and the blare of the music – something that seemed to involve nothing but drums and screaming – was scraping against his every nerve.

If it wasn't for the sight of Robin at the bar, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, Vlad got the feeling he'd have just turned round and gone home. As it was he made straight for the other boy and resolved to be charming and prove that he was just as 'cool' as Robin's new friends.

Robin's eyes lit up when he saw him, smiling all over his face. "This," he flung an arm around Vlad's shoulders, the movement revealing how much he's had to drink as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, "is Vlad. He's my friend from home."

"Darren," the tall boy he was being introduced to pointed at himself, then at the blond next to him, "this is Steve. And," he gestured at the dark-haired girl making her way down the staircase across the room, "you already know Carys."

Vlad glowered. He'd seen enough of Carys to last him a lifetime. And, considering he was going to live forever, he figured that said something important. Carys seemed as oblivious to it as she always was, sidling up to Robin, and making him remove the arm from his shoulders to place it around her waist.

They moved away from the bar for the sofas in the corner; Vlad uncertain if he was happy or not when Robin fell into the seat next to him, the heat of his thigh pressed close against him filling Vlad's head with inappropriate thoughts.

"I_ love_ this song!" Carys jumped to her feet. Vlad frowned, how could she even tell that the track had changed? The_ noise_ sounded exactly the same as it had five minutes ago. "Come on Robin." She pulled at Robin's arm without luck; Robin shook his head and collapsed back against Vlad's side.

"Fine," she shook her head and grabbed the other two instead, dragging them towards the dance floor. Once they were gone Robin shifted clumsily, squirming and wriggling in a way that made Vlad sure he wasn't going to get through the night without embarrassing himself.

"You're comfy, Vlad."

"Am I?"

Robin nodded seriously, resting his head against Vlad's shoulder. "Yeah. And you smell nice." He sat back slightly and raised one hand, touching his fingers to Vlad's cheek, "Makes me miss you."

Two boys sat opposite them, shooting them such a filthy look Vlad pushed Robin back to put space between them. Robin gave him a baleful look and Vlad shook his head,

"You should have thought of that _before_, shouldn't you?"

**

* * *

**

"**Feeling black**** when I think about all of the things that I feel I lack."  
**  
"You cannot be serious?"

"What?" Ian asked his sister, looking confused.

"I'm just saying, if you want her to go out with you. _Don't_ give her that."

"Bruv, I think you should definitely give it to her," Paul grinned lecherously.

"You don't think it's too, I dunno, tarty?" Ian held up the underwear in question.

Paul shook his head, "It says: I think you're fit enough to do it justice. She'll be well chuffed."

Chloe pulled a face, "_How_ romantic."

Ignoring her Paul turned his attention to Vlad, "So come on then. Who's the lucky lad-" Paul frowned, searching for the masculine equivalent before giving up and settling on, "boy? Who 'ave you got lined up this year? I hear Freakboy's on the market again," Paul sniggered.

"No-one," Vlad looked at his hands. "Valentine's Day sucks."

Paul nudged his brother, "Only if you spend enough money."

The twins high-fived and Chloe grimaced in disgust. Vlad just let their conversation wash over him and allowed his mind to wander, back to a Valentine's Day that _hadn't _sucked.

He rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin up with his hands. He still had that card in a box under his bed, along with everything else Robin had ever given him – from the pile of notes he had passed him during endlessly boring English lessons to the 'sorry for your loss' card he'd left propped up against the new coffin (which he'd yet to actually use) on his sixteenth birthday.

Back then he'd never have thought Robin would have got _bored_ of him before he'd even worn out his first shroud. Ingrid said that if were a real vampire he'd have forced Robin to stay at his side and ripped Carys' throat out. It did have a certain appeal.

He sighed again, oblivious to the close scrutiny of the Branaghs. Who was he kidding?

He'd never be a _real_ vampire.

* * *

"**Feeling jaded when it's not gone right, all the colours are faded."  
**  
"Vlad?"

"Hi," Vlad said lamely, feeling stupid and foolish for turning up at Robin's door unannounced. Robin stared at him wide-eyed for a moment longer before standing back and ushering him inside.

Vlad felt his head spin as Robin shut the door behind him, his scent flooding his senses. He took an unnecessary breath and accepted Robin's offer to sit down, sinking gratefully onto Robin's unmade bed. There were clothes and paper strewn everywhere and Marvin, the anatomical skeleton Robin had blown his first term's maintenance loan on, was draped across the only chair.

"Sorry about the mess," Robin made an attempt to gather it into one pile, "Nobody really comes round, you know? Do you want a drink or something? Or, you could always bite me if you wanted." Taking in Vlad's expression the grin slid from Robin's face and he sat next to him, so close Vlad could feel the heat radiating off him. Robin looked at him with worried eyes, "Is everything okay, Vlad? You don't look well. I mean, you never look well, but you're looking really really unwell. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing -"

"I get it," Vlad said, cutting Robin's babbling off. He could do this.

"Look, Robin, I know I said I was okay with _this_," he gestured at them both, not knowing how to put their messy relationship as not quite just friends but nowhere near anything else into words, "but," he sighed, "I'm not."

Robin was silent and Vlad ploughed on, suddenly desperate to get the words out, "I _love_ you Robin. I've never wanted anyone else. _Never_. And," he faltered, "I can't _just_ be friends with you. I've tried and it doesn't work."

"What are you trying to say, Vlad?"

Vlad met Robin's gaze steadily, determined to stand his ground, "I don't think we should see each other anymore. At all."

**

* * *

**

"Aren't you ever going to leave the castle again?" Ingrid pulled a face, "Or wash? You're making me feel sick."

Vlad didn't answer, curling up on the sofa and staring unseeingly at the fourth replacement television they'd had in as many months. His dad seemed curiously incapable of not destroying them.

"All this over Branagh," Ingrid shook her head and swept to her feet, "the mind boggles."

The door to the crypt slammed shut and Vlad dared to hope he might be left alone to wallow in self-pity in peace, when there was a knock at the door. He kept still in the hope that either Renfield would answer it, or whoever it was would give up and go away.

No such luck.

The knocking got more and more insistent, until he was forced to get up and answer it himself.

"Don't slam the door!" Robin pushed his way past into the hallway the instant the door was open, "If I have to climb that tower again it'll probably kill me."

The joke fell flat and Vlad just stared at him, waiting for Robin to tell him what he wanted so he could say no and send him on his way. Instead Robin stepped closer and Vlad noticed, for the first time, he was carrying a bunch of cellophane wrapped flowers.

Robin followed Vlad's gaze and said, "Yeah, I know, it's a bit late. But," he held his hand out, "Happy Valentine's Day." Vlad made no attempt to take them from him.

"Vlad, please say something. Anything."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're my best friend." Robin gnawed at his lip nervously, "Because I miss you."

Vlad looked at the other boy incredulously. He didn't bother to so much as call him for two months then turned up on his doorstep with flowers to tell him he _missed_ him.

"My mam said you needed cheering up. Look, Vlad, I didn't mean for everything to end up like this."

"Well that's alright then," Vlad snapped, feeling his temper rising. Robin hadn't _meant_ to rip his heart out, so what right did he have to be upset about it.

"I didn't mean it like that." Robin just stared at him for a long moment before putting the flowers down on the sideboard. "You know where I am if you want me."

Vlad leaned back against the shut door for a long time after Robin left, thinking of the thousands of better ways he could have handled the meeting. Eventually he gave up. Ingrid was right; he really needed to pull himself together.

**

* * *

**

Later that week Vlad had another problem on his hands. It was Robin's birthday and, for reasons Vlad was certain he couldn't fathom, he was invited.

"Why don't you take your cousin Drusilla?" The Count suggested, taking in Vlad's maudlin expression.

Vlad pulled a face, "_Because_ she's my cousin."

"But," the Count smirked and touched a hand to his shoulder, "the peasants won't know that."

"You've snogged that primordial pustule, Branagh," Ingrid said, carefully painting her fingernails a blood red, "I don't see how snogging your cousin could be much worse."

Ignoring her, Vlad said, "Everyone knows I don't like girls; Robin will never fall for it." Peering through the gap in the shutters he went on, "I need to take somebody who will make Robin jealous, realise what he's missing out on."

Ingrid scoffed, but didn't say anything. The Count snapped his fingers and opened his mouth to speak, but Vlad cut him off,

"And _won't_ suck all my best friends dry the second my back is turned."

The Count pulled a face, but lowered his hand in defeat.

"Face it, Vlad," Ingrid smirked up at him, "You're a loser, and Branagh knows it. Just accept it. You'll feel much better."

Vlad scowled. He was going to go to Robin's birthday party with a hot date, and Robin was going to be jealous. And, that was the end of it.

**

* * *

**

Of course it didn't work out like that at all. It was the story of his unlife. Instead Vlad found himself sat with the twins and stabbing at the plate of food Mrs. Branagh had put in front of him.

"Sounds like the ABS 'ave gone, bruv."

"Aw, what!? I can't afford that."

"Might not be." Ian shrugged, "Check the reluctor rings on the outer CV joint."

Vlad gave up trying to understand what the twins were talking about and went back to staring at Robin. The other boy still hadn't made any attempt to speak to him; was instead flanked on every side by his stupid _art_ friends. Not that it stopped them staring over in his direction every few minutes and tittering, no doubt having a good laugh about how much of a loser he was.

If _anyone_ else asked him if he was, in fact, all on his own he had a good mind to follow Ingrid's example and scream.

It didn't help that, in spite of everyone's assurances to the contrary; it still looked _very_ much like Carys and Robin were as joined at the hip as they'd ever been. What could she offer Robin that he couldn't? Aside from being distinctly female, alive, and non-combustible? He scowled at her and wished, just for a moment, that looks could kill.

By the time Robin finally broke through of her grasp, and started towards him, he felt like he had easily eaten his own body weight in the sympathy laden slabs of cake Mrs. Branagh kept placing in front of him. The twins having gone outside to look at the reluctant thingies on the inner whatsit, Robin slid into the seat opposite him, glancing back over at his other friends as he did so.

"Thanks for coming, Vlad. I didn't think you would."

"Why?" Vlad asked, temper fraying, "Hoping I'd make your life easier, were you?"

Robin frowned, "No. I really wanted you here, more than anything."

Vlad looked away and reminded himself of all the reasons why that was obviously a lie. Robin was quiet for a long moment, before reaching a hand across the table and clasping his own,

"Can we talk, Vlad? Properly?"

**

* * *

**

"**Nobody told me it'd feel so good; Nobody said you'd be so beautiful; Nobody warned me about your smile. … You're the light when I close my eyes. … You make me colourblind."  
**  
"I was so scared you'd bring some super hot vampire with you."

Vlad said nothing, leaning his head back against Robin's bedroom wall. He knew he should have tried harder to find someone.

Robin fidgeted nervously, "I know it's what I deserve, but I couldn't bear it, Vlad."

"What about Carys?" Vlad asked, tone spiteful. Robin looked upset and Vlad felt it served him right.

"What about her?" Robin took in his expression and sighed, "I told you, we split up. Ages ago. I don't lie to you, Vlad." At Vlad's raised eyebrow he amended, "Okay, except for the times when I 'ave lied to you. But I wouldn't do it about something like this. I promise."

Vlad wrenched his gaze away, not wanting to admit that even if Robin were lying to him he'd still forgive him it. "What do you want, Robin? You've already said sorry."

"For you to accept it?" Downstairs the twins had taken over the hi-fi system, the pulse of the bass rattling up the wall, so Vlad would have missed Robin's next words if he were human.

"I was so stupid, Vlad."

At least, Vlad thought – fully aware that were his heart capable of beating it would be pounding in his chest – they agreed on something.

"I thought I was too young to get serious with you. But I was wrong. I wasn't lying, I've missed you. Really missed you." Robin had pressed closer, his anxious gaze sending thrills through Vlad. "If you give me another chance, I won't mess it up, Vlad."

"You don't know that."

Robin looked away and Vlad felt justified in dragging it out for a long moment, wanting Robin to understand just how miserable he'd been. Finally he pressed his fingers to Robin's cheek, for once not worrying the coolness of his skin would repulse the other boy, and tilted his head back to face him,

"But I'm willing to take the risk."

"I do love you," Robin said seriously.

Vlad smiled back at him, uncaring of how gormless he had to look, and pulled him closer still,

"I love you too. Just _try_ not to do something so stupid again, yeah?"

Robin just shook his head and kissed him. Soundly.

**[/End]**


	82. Chapter 82

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

"'_Two buxom and lusty vampire babes drain an orgy of unsuspecting peasants._'" Paul read the blurb aloud before grinning widely, "Awesome!"

"I – "

"Robin, it seems we were a little hasty." Ian said, grabbing the case from Paul to look at it himself.

"The thing is –" Vlad tried again, biting his lip nervously. Why couldn't his life, just for once, not be one endless drama?

"Don't worry." Paul glanced at Ian who nodded. "This," he waved the DVD case around, "says you two are invited." And with that the two of them disappeared down the school hallway, squabbling over who was going to watch it first.

"Aw wicked Vlad. This is going to be _so_ cool."

"Robin!" Vlad snapped. "Don't you see what this means?"

Robin frowned at him in confusion. "Yeah. We get to go to Ian and Paul's party."

"No! It means everyone is going to know what I am."

"Aw, come on Vlad, everyone watches stuff like that. It's normal. It won't make you go blind or anything. Besides," Robin added with a grin, "it's about lusty vampire _babes_; how's anyone going to tell that you really go wild for tall," he stood up straighter, "dark, handsome men?"

Vlad resisted the urge to shake him. "That's not what I meant Robin!" The anger was draining from him, replaced by the unwanted, and all too familiar, feeling of despair. He leant against the wall and let his schoolbag slide to the floor. His dad had been trying to press a collection of 'adult' media on him for weeks now, telling him, with a wave of a hand and no little embarrassment, that he was growing up and young vampires had needs.

Vlad had protested and dumped the magazines straight into the bin. A week later he'd found a book left on his bed: '_An A-Z of Vampiric Intercourse for the Curious Adolescent._' That had suffered the same fate. Finally today he'd opened his lunchbox to find a DVD case nestled in the space generally reserved for his sandwiches. The same DVD Robin had just offered to Ian and Paul as 'entertainment' for their party that evening.

Robin came over and leant next to him. "Vlad," he started, brow creased in concentration, "are you trying to tell me that that's _not_ a normal porn movie?"

"That's _exactly_ what I've been trying to tell you. What do you think it meant by 'drain', huh?"

Robin looked apologetic. "Sorry Vlad."

Vlad just sniffed, he wasn't going to forgive Robin that easily.

"Look," Robin glanced warily up and down the corridor before clasping his hand, "I'll sort it out."

* * *

"Have you got rid of it yet?" Vlad hissed at Robin over the pounding music, moving slightly to let a boy with a bra on his head get past.

Robin shook his head guiltily; "I don't know where they've put it."

"Robin!"

They were distracted by the sound of something smashing: Robin's mum's favourite vase was lying in pieces on the floor, murky water seeping into the plush cream carpet.

"Mam's going to kill them."

Vlad thought she'd probably have a good go at it. Mr. and Mrs. Branaugh were visiting Robin's grandparents for the weekend; Chloe had gone with them. Ian and Paul were using the opportunity to throw the biggest house party of the year. They could at least, Vlad thought, have moved some of the breakable stuff out of the way.

Suddenly the music stopped; Ian climbed onto the sofa. "Listen up everyone!" Paul scrambled up next to him. "We have some extra entertainment!" Vlad wondered how much they had had to drink. Paul almost landed face first as he stepped back to the floor. "This had better be good now Robin."

Robin shrugged awkwardly under the scrutiny of a room full of sixth-formers. Vlad scowled.

The twins fiddled with the DVD player for a moment before the image of two scantily clad women, one blonde, the other brunette appeared on the screen. Cheers went up from the boys, groans from the few girls present.

Vlad felt sick; the 'vampire babes' had an unkempt looking man tied to a chair, his face chalky white, eyes bulging in terror. Robin, at least, had the good grace to look ashamed.

On screen the vampiresses advanced on their prey, fangs extending. Vlad heard one of the boys close to him muttering about computer graphics. The growing interest quickly turned to disgust as the brunette put a hand around the man's throat, long nails sinking into his flesh, blood welling up and dripping from the puncture marks.

"Eugh!" was the communal repsonse as the blonde sank her fangs into his neck, blood smeared unattractively all across her dainty features when she raised her head.

"That's gross!" As the brunette bit him from the other side, tears of fear streaking his cheeks. Vlad clenched his eyes shut and wished it was over; in a few minutes everyone was going to know what a freak he really was. He held his breath; one, two, three… Nothing happened. Slowly he opened his eyes.

Blinking at the light he saw that the TV screen was blank and Paul had the disc in his hand, glaring down at Robin who was being held in place by an irate looking Ian.

"Is this your idea of a joke Robin?" Paul asked.

"I – "

"If we'd wanted a _horror_ film we would have said so!" Ian growled.

"You're such a weirdo!" The guy with the bra on his head protested.

"Right that's it." Ian let go of Robin. "Scram!"

Paul glared at Vlad pointedly; "both of you."

**

* * *

**

Half hour later they were sat on Vlad's bed, the smell of melted plastic lingering in the air.

"I'm really sorry Vlad."

Vlad relented and smiled at Robin. "It's alright." He leaned back on his elbows, "I can't believe they didn't realise what it was."

"_Sure as boy scouts sing round campfires; not everyone believes in vampires_." Robin rolled over so he could look down at Vlad.

Vlad waited, Robin looked like he wanted to say something else.

"Vlad?" Robin began cautiously. "Is that…" he struggled to find a way to phrase it. "Is that what you think about when you – you know?"

Vlad watched as a blush spread across Robin's cheeks and wondered if he should be honest. Fidgeting with the edge of his blanket Vlad avoided meeting Robin's gaze as he spoke. "Not exactly. Sometimes, though, I think about biting you." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "But it's not like _that_." He shut his eyes at the memory of the look of fear on the man's face as those two vampires advanced on him. "You." He took a deep breath. "You _want_ me to do it."

Vlad felt a blush stealing down his own neck as he described it to Robin. "You beg me." He forced himself to look at the other boy; Robin was looking down at him with the weirdest look on his face. Vlad panicked. "But I'd never really do it!" He reassured. "I, just, think about it sometimes."

"I know." Robin's voice was lower than usual and Vlad shivered as his dark eyes bore into his own. "But," Robin licked his lips nervously, a movement which had Vlad mesmerised, "couldn't we just _pretend_ sometimes?"

Later, as Vlad worked at giving Robin the hickey to end all hickeys, the other boy's hands clutching wildly at his shoulders, he wondered if perhaps he ought to thank his dad for his efforts after all.


	83. Chapter 83

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

"Fuck! He's heavier than he looks."

The door crashed against the wall and light flooded the room. Vlad squinted, even from the dark confines of his hiding place; he didn't really need the light anymore and rarely dared to switch it on when he made these visits. The risk of being caught was too great.

"Just chuck him on the bed."

Vlad shifted, hauling his foot in under the desk, as the two boys struggled past with Robin's unresisting form in their arms. The smell of alcohol emanating from him was so strong, Vlad could scarcely detect Robin's own scent underneath it. He hoped that Robin didn't make a habit of drinking to such excess. He hated the thought of Robin making his self ill.

"Do you think someone should stay with him?" asked the taller of the two boys, in a thick northern accent. "_Look_ at the state he's in." The concern in his voice was so evident that Vlad had to bite back a possessive growl. If anyone was going to watch over Robin, it would be _him_.

"He'll be alright," the other boy said dismissively. "Just let him sleep it off."

With that the pair of them left, the door clicking shut behind them. Vlad crawled out from underneath the desk, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the underside as he stood up. He should have just left as soon as he heard the footsteps in the hallway, but, he had no restraint. Not when it came to catching a glimpse of Robin, at least.

Cautiously, he moved closer to Robin, unsure whether the other boy was conscious or not. A part of him hoped he was; Robin was so drunk he would never remember Vlad being there, in his room, uninvited. He thought longingly of the soft kisses they had once shared and Vlad wondered whether Robin remembered them at all, or if they had been too deeply associated with vampires in Robin's mind. Perhaps, even if that wasn't the case, they hadn't meant enough to Robin for him still to think of it, so many years on…

"Eurgh," Robin groaned, and Vlad froze. He _should_ leave – right now. His indecision stretched out and, then, it was too late. Robin shifted and attempted to focus on him, his eyes dark and wide. Vlad sucked in an unnecessary breath. He hadn't had that gaze directed at him since leaving Stokely, since forcing Robin to forget about him. The shivers it sent through him were no less powerful than they had been when he was fourteen and desperately in love.

"Robin?" Vlad spoke quietly, "do you know who I am?"

Vlad carefully touched the back of his fingers to Robin's fevered forehead. His mind raced, this would be the perfect timing; the opposition forces had finally been beaten into submission, his position as Grand High Vampire at last secure. If Robin _did_ know, they could be friends again. If Robin really remembered, maybe they could be more. If he didn't… it didn't bear thinking about. How would be ever be anything more to Robin than some half mad stalker, who crept into his bedroom in the dead of night just to watch him sleep?

Robin peered up at him, his gaze intense in spite of its obvious drunken quality. Vlad waited anxiously. He was certain that whatever happened in the next few moments would be profound, would shape the course of the rest of his unlife.

"_Vlad_." Robin finally bleated, his eyes clenching shut, his skin feeling clammy under Vlad's fingertips. "Oh God." And, then, he was being sick. Violently sick.

'Profound' indeed, Vlad couldn't help but think later as he sat, perched on the edge of Robin's bed, rubbing comforting circles across the other boy's back. It might not have been the romance he would have wished for, but - and it was a big but - Robin _did_ recognise him. He couldn't stand, could barely remember his own name, but he had known who Vlad was. Had clung to him thankfully as Vlad had held him upright over the sink.

Vlad smiled and settled himself more comfortably. He was going to be there when Robin woke up; he'd get his profound moment. Even, Vlad thought ruefully, glancing at the pile of dirty clothes and bed linen on the floor, if it was only Robin's profound _embarrassment_.


	84. Chapter 84

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

[_Monday_]

"I'm not saying it won't be difficult, but it's not just the breathers who will benefit from the policy – "

"Vlad?"

Vlad looked up to see Robin stood in his doorway; apparently knocking was a concept he had never heard of.

"Oh sorry, didn't realise you 'ad company."

Vlad blushed at the insinuation in Robin's tone and, mindful of what his guest might report back to the Council about his conduct, got up from his desk to introduce them properly,

"Robin, this is Tatiana. She's a liaison from the party." Vlad cast Robin a glare he hoped the other would interpret as 'so please do not annoy her in _any_ way.' Satisfied he'd got his point across he motioned at Robin, "And this is Robin. He's my best friend."

"Robin, _so_ nice to meet you," Anya purred.

Robin was already smiling dopily at her and Vlad heaved a sigh.

"Call me Ana, please."

Robin took her hand and kissed it in a move he'd obviously nicked right out of a vintage Hammer film. "The pleasure's all mine, _Ana_."

Ana glanced at Vlad's stricken expression for a moment before giving Robin a small smile.

"Vlad, you never said you had such charming and _handsome_ friends."

**

* * *

**

"She wants me, Vlad."

"Is that _meant_ to be a joke? _What_ would she want you for?"

"For my hot body?" Robin grinned and raised his eyebrows lecherously.

"_Right," _ Vlad shook his head incredulously. "For the hot gush of your blood as she sinks her fangs into your neck, more like."

"You're just jealous."

Vlad crossed his arms and scowled harder. "No, I'm not."

"_Yes_," Robin stopped fussing with his hair in the mirror to face him, "you are. If you 'ad it your way we'd probably be holding hands in the cinema, and wearing matching anoraks. Anything to make sure I never get a girlfriend."

Vlad sputtered. "That's not true!" He looked away to hide the blush that said otherwise. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Tatiana _is_ like 300 years old."

Robin smirked. "That's alright; I like older women." He looked at his watch. "Look, I've got to go. Tell her I said 'bye' though, yeah?"

"I don't think so," Vlad muttered bitterly as he watched Robin leave.

**

* * *

**

[_Wednesday_]

"So Ana, are you doing anything this weekend? It's just I've got a spare ticket for the _Bullet for my Valentine_ gig."

"You said _I_ could go to that with you!" Vlad protested from the other side of the dining room. Robin scowled at him but otherwise ignored the outburst.

Ana pulled a face. "They are terrible. Commercial."

"Oh yeah, I know," Robin said hurriedly. "Don't know why I've even got tickets, they're rubbish."

Vlad put down the file he was supposed to be reading and rested his chin on one hand, as if he were pondering something carefully. "But I _thought_ they were your favourite band, Robin? Your bedroom walls are _covered_ in their posters."

"I've got _two_, Vlad. And, anyway, that's just for a joke!" Robin glared at him.

"Yeah, but you've been to see them before, haven't you?"

"'Ave I? Can't really remember now, must 'ave been ages ago."

"It was last month. Your fourth time, wasn't it?" Robin looked like he wouldn't have minded throttling Vlad but Ana chose that moment to speak.

"This looks acceptable." She pointed to an advert in the back of the Stokely Chronicle for a local club night. "You may take me there."

Robin smiled sweetly at her before grinning at Vlad in triumph.

**

* * *

**

"How are _you_ going to take her to _Pulse_?" Vlad asked once Ana had gone down to the guest crypt, folding his arms smugly. "You aren't even old enough to get in."

"Yeah, well, that's where I thought you'd come in. You could just hypnotise the bouncer or something."

"Yeah, I _could_."

Robin grinned at him.

"But, I'm not going to."

The grin fell.

"You're not _still_ upset, are you? Look, she's bound to 'ave a friend you can go with. It could be a double date."

"Are you mad?" Vlad shook his head. "No, don't answer that."

"I don't know why you're being like this."

"I'm just saying it's a bit suspicious, isn't it? Tatiana's one of the most sought after vampiresses in the whole of Europe and you're, well," Vlad motioned at Robin, "you."

"Right, thanks a lot, Vlad." Robin started gathering his stuff together noisily.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Robin's only response was to slam the door harder than usual on the way out.

**

* * *

**

"Aw, what's wrong wiv little Vladdy waddy? Is he sad because breather boy wouldn't touch him wiv a barge pole?"

"Go away, Ingrid." Vlad growled, hastily swiping at his eyes and shoving Mr. Cuddles' misshapen form behind his pillow. If Ingrid found out he still had him she would _never _let him live it down.

"Alright bat breath, keep your hair on."

Ingrid sat next to him. She sneered as she took in his tear stained cheeks.

"If it bothers you this much, why don't you just _tell_ her to back off? Or, you could just show her your diary and she'll be so disgusted she'll be winging it back to Transylvania the moment the sun's set." Ingrid held one hand out to inspect her manicure. "It made _me_ sick reading page after page of your pathetic lovesick drivel."

"Ingrid! That's private!"

Ingrid shrugged. "And I care _because_?"

Vlad sighed. "It won't make any difference what I say to her. He doesn't like me."

"You really are the world's biggest loser."

Vlad looked at her sharply.

"You're _supposed _to be the Grand High Vampire. If you stopped acting like a complete wimpire – you know actually _tell_ him - you might stand a chance."

"I'm _not _a wimpire!"

Ingrid stood to leave, pointing at Mr. Cuddles' badly mended arm which was sticking out over the top of his pillow. "Vlad, you still sleep with a soft toy." She made a 'W' with her hands, "_Wimpire_."

**

* * *

**

[_Friday Night_]

"How do I look?"

"As repulsive as you normally do." Ingrid said, turning her attention back to the latest issue of _Gothmopolitan_.

"Like a prince, Vlad," The Count said, taking in the predominance of black with approval. "What's the special occasion? Draining the blood of an orgy of peasants?"

"_No_." Vlad patted his pockets, checking he hadn't forgotten anything. "I'm going clubbing."

Ingrid flung her magazine down. "Now this I _have_ to see. Just wait there _two_ minutes."

**

* * *

**

"So you changed your mind then?"

Vlad nodded dumbly, not quite trusting himself to speak. Robin was looking especially appealing in his button down shirt and tight jeans, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold night air.

"It'll be awesome, Vlad! Us and the two fittest girls in Stokely." He motioned in front of them to where Ingrid and Ana were glaring cattily at each other.

"Yeah, brilliant." They shuffled forward. "One of them's my sister and the other thinks I'd be of more use as dust." He paused. "Actually, Ingrid probably thinks that too."

"You're not going to whinge all night, are you?"

Vlad scowled. "You won't know, will you? You're not going to get in."

"That's where you're wrong." Robin waved a card in front of his face.

"Is that," Vlad peered closer, "Paul's driving licence?"

"Yep."

"They'll never fall for it!"

Robin sighed, like he was trying to explain something to a particularly stupid child, "Of course they will."

And, much to Vlad's disgust, they did, the bouncer waving Robin, Ingrid and Ana inside. Vlad hypnotised the guy impatiently and scurried after them.

**

* * *

**

"What's your name?"

"Huh?" Vlad asked, his attention on trying to catch a glimpse of Robin through the throng of people. Robin and Ana had made straight for the dance floor, and Ingrid was surrounded by swarms of smitten admirers, leaving him to fend off the advances of what seemed like half of Stokely.

"I said, what's your name?"

"Vlad," He answered distractedly, shifting slightly so he could better see Robin. He was pressed close to Ana. Vlad looked away, Ingrid's 'wimpire' comments ringing in his head.

"I'm Kelsey." The girl pushed closer to him, taking his hand and pressing it against her hip.

Vlad removed it and took a long swallow from the bottle in his other hand. When he looked back in Robin's direction it was to see him kissing Ana. He started making for the bar, oblivious to Kelsey's protests. He needed more drink.

**

* * *

**

[_Meanwhile_]

"Aw, come _on_. I'm his _twin_ brother."

"Sorry, no I.D., no entry. That's the way it is."

"What's going on here?" A tall man with harsh features pushed through the queue, nobody making any attempt to stop him.

The bouncer looked at him apprehensively. "He's," he gestured at Paul, "not got any I.D."

The man turned to Paul, fixing him with a gaze that made him squirm. "You know Vladimir, don't you?"

Paul shared a look with Ian before answering, "Yeah, he's like best friends with my weirdo brother, why?"

"That's good enough for me. I may well _need_ you later." The man stared at the bouncer for a moment. "There's no problem here."

The bouncer repeated slowly, "No problem."

Ian and Paul shared another look before shrugging and following the guy inside.

**

* * *

**

"Vlad," Ingrid sneered at him, "are you drunk?"

"No!" Vlad swayed slightly, clinging to the bar with one hand. "Maybe a little."

"_Freak_." She clicked her fingers and the barman dropped his order to come to her. "I'll have a vodka and coke." She glanced at Vlad in disgust. "And a glass of water for _him_."

She took the drinks, without paying, and steered Vlad to an empty sofa. He slumped into it gratefully. "Here, drink this." Vlad sipped at the water dutifully.

"I don't know what she sees in him."

Vlad followed Ingrid's gaze to where Ana and Robin were still pressed tight together, moving in time to the deafening chart music. Vlad sniffed; in all the time he'd known him Robin had never made any attempt to listen to anything that didn't involve screaming or growling. Or both.

"I don't know what he sees in _her_." He swallowed the last of his water. "Half her face is plastic."

"Harsh," Ingrid said, but smiled approvingly. "Isn't that," She turned to him, eyes suddenly wide, "Minister Tschetter?"

Vlad looked over to where a tall imposing figure had joined Ana and sighed heavily. "Yes."

**

* * *

**

"Ingrid!" exclaimed Paul.

"_Ingrid_." Sighed Ian.

"Not now, losers." Ingrid pushed past them, Vlad trailing behind her. The twins shared a look before following.

"Which way?" Vlad asked once they were outside, scouring the street desperately for a glimpse of Robin. Ana had dragged him a lot faster than they'd been able to follow.

Ingrid inhaled deeply, before answering. "Right."

All four of them made their way down the alley that led round to the back of the club. Vlad motioned for them to stop as the sound of Robin's voice rang out. He peered round the corner cautiously.

Ana had Robin pushed up against the club wall, her fangs glinting in the moon light.

"Look, I, uh, don't think we should do this 'ere. Vlad's on his own and -" Robin's voice rose to an almost squeak, "Okay, maybe we should."

Vlad struggled to control the wave of jealousy that crashed over him. Paul moved behind him, "I can't believe it, Robin's actually pulled!"

"And she's pretty fit, too."

Vlad glared at them but it was too late.

"Vladimir." Tschetter stepped out from the shadows. "Nice of you to join us. Ana was just about to make a meal out of your little friend. And," He looked pointedly at the twins, "I see you've brought afters along."

Paul nudged Ian, "_Kinky_."

Ian grinned.

Robin's eyes went wide, his face paling. Ana slid one hand into his hair and yanked hard, pulling him in front of Vlad. Robin squirmed against her hold, "You said you liked me."

"Please," Ana rolled her eyes, "you're a disgusting little breather."

Ingrid nodded slightly, you couldn't argue with that.

"Vlad, on the other hand, thinks you're _beautiful_ and that your smile is like the touch of _sunshine_ in his dark dismal existence."

Vlad cringed; was there anybody in Stokely who _hadn't_ read his diary?

"So," Tschetter took Ana's place, trailing long fingernails down Robin's throat, "think how upset he's been watching you with Ana. Think how upset he'd be if you were to meet with a little _accident_." He smiled at Vlad coldly. "What would you do to save him, Dracula? Repeal the new constitution? Hand over the crown?"

He pushed Robin back against the wall, holding him in place with a hand squeezed around his throat. "Think about it very," Tschetter increased the pressure, "carefully."

"Okay," Paul spoke, "this is getting a bit _weird_."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "You two," the twins focussed on her intently, "go and get my coat from the cloakroom." They both grinned in joy and ran back up the alleyway. "Right," she looked at Vlad, "now they're out of the way, let's show these two what happens to vampires who are stupid enough to mess with a Dracula."

Vlad smirked, taking the piece of crate she handed him.

"On three. One, two – "

They simultaneously staked both vampires.

Ingrid dropped the wood and dusted her hands off, grinning evilly. "Three."

**

* * *

**

"I'm really sorry, Vlad."

"It's alright." Vlad swabbed the bloody crescent marks on Robin's neck with antiseptic, forcibly clamping down on the desire to use his tongue instead.

"No, it's not." Robin laid his hand on Vlad's arm, making the other boy look at him. "I acted like an idiot. I should 'ave seen what she was trying to do. It's like you said, she would never 'ave been interested in me."

Vlad extracted his arm carefully. "Just leave it, okay? It doesn't matter."

Robin picked at a loose thread on Vlad's bedspread. Vlad asked himself for the thousandth time why he had brought Robin back to his bedroom when he looked like _that_. As if it wasn't hard enough to keep away from him already.

"Was it true what she said, Vlad? Do you really think I'm_ handsome_ and all that?"

Vlad tried to act normally and put the first aid kit away. Tried to not fling himself at Robin's feet and beg him to still be his friend. He managed it. Just.

Robin continued, "Because if you did – an', I mean, who wouldn't? – "

Vlad couldn't suppress a small smile as Robin's usual big-headedness shone through.

"Well," Robin grew quiet, "it wouldn't be a bad thing."

Vlad turned, studying Robin carefully. "And what if I wanted us to hold hands in the cinema and wear matching anoraks?" He felt bad for throwing Robin's words back in his face but he couldn't bear for Robin to offer something he couldn't deliver.

Robin stood, taking one if his hands in his own, "Well, I'd have to meet you 'alfway." He smiled at Vlad. "I don't do anoraks."

**

* * *

**

[_Elsewhere_]

"Well, you two have been surprisingly acceptable company. Perhaps you do have more than half a brain cell between you after all." Ingrid regarded them coolly as they came to a halt outside the Branaghs'.

The twins beamed.

"Do you want to come in, Ingrid?" asked Ian.

"For coffee." Added Paul.

"Eugh, _no_!" Ingrid scowled at them. "Do I look desperate? I said you were acceptable, not desirable."

She stormed off in the direction of the castle. The twins shrugged.

"Women," sighed Paul.

"_Women_," agreed Ian.


	85. Chapter 85

_**Written for +10_vampires. Table one, prompt #09 ~ 'light'.  
**_

* * *

"I didn't want to be the one to have to tell you this, Vlad," Robin said one afternoon, tone solemn, "but I think your sister's a lesbian."

Vlad frowned, marking his place in the report he was reading. It was alright for Robin; some people had a job to do. Meeting Robin's gaze, he asked, "What are you going on about now?"

"Ingrid," Robin elaborated, "She's a lesbian."

"What makes you think that?" Vlad asked, mystified. Last time he'd seen Ingrid, just over twenty minutes ago, she had been busy flirting with the vampire who'd come round to canvass for the party in the upcoming Council elections.

Maybe, he thought, she was just doing it to spite him because she knew the party wanted him reduced to a little casket of dust. He wouldn't put it past her.

Robin soon put his concerns in that area to rest. "I've been asking her out for seven years now," he whined. "Why else would she keep saying no?"

Vlad gave him an incredulous look. If every woman who didn't want to go out with Robin was a lesbian, the human race would die out.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "she doesn't fancy you. Ever thought of that?"

"All women fancy me, Vlad," Robin told him as if this were an undisputed fact of life. "I'm irresistible."

"Yeah," Vlad smirked. "Except to all those who can resist you."

Robin glared. "Seriously though, think about it. You see it in the films, all vampires are lesbians."

"I'm not a lesbian," Vlad protested. He didn't fancy girls at all.

"Vampiresses then!" Robin scowled. "Don't be so dense, Vlad!"

Vlad, wisely, said nothing. The silence stretched comfortably, and Vlad shifted across the bed until he was lying next to Robin on his stomach, chin propped in his hands.

"Why have you been asking Ingrid out again, anyway?"

"It was only," Robin said, blushing, "hypothetical."

"Hmm," Vlad responded, enjoying the way Robin was squirming in embarrassment. Served him right, he thought. He didn't go round asking Chloe if she would hypothetically like to go out with her brother's boyfriend. "Maybe," he suggested after a moment, "Ingrid had to say that so I wouldn't be annoyed. I am the Grand High Vampire, you know."

Robin brightened at that, "You really think so, Vlad?"

Vlad pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and smiled sweetly,

"Don't be so dense!"


	86. Chapter 86

_**Written for 10 smut cliches prompt, 'Let's go again'. =)  
**_

* * *

_"Yes, mum, I'm eating properly. No, mum, I'm not just saying that."_

_"Nietzsche says it's possible."  
"Nietzsche talks a lot of bollocks."_

_"I was like, oh my **God** you're not being serious? And he was like, totally."  
"Oh my God! What did you say!?"  
"I told him I'd have to think about it!"_

Vlad shook his head and pressed fingers to his temple, rapping on Robin's door with his other hand. Now he understood why isolated castles were the done thing. He could hear every conversation along the corridor, all underlined with the 'warpa warpa warpa' of someone playing bassline on the floor above. It reverberated around his skull and made him feel ill.

Just when he thought he couldn't take a moment more of it, Robin opened the door, smiling widely at the sight of him. Suddenly it was as if he couldn't even hear anything, couldn't think of anything but the fact Robin was standing in front of him.

Robin always had that effect.

What was new was the realisation that he had the same effect on Robin.

"I've missed you," Vlad said, trailing fingers up the exposed skin of Robin's forearm. A week ago he wouldn't have dared do such a thing, too afraid Robin would be disgusted and want nothing more to do with him. Now Robin just grinned and pressed him back against the closed door,

"I bet you 'ave."

The words were hot against the skin of Vlad's neck and Vlad shivered, sliding hands around Robin's waist and pulling him closer. Robin exhaled sharply, his own hands finding the hem of Vlad's T-shirt and trailing heated touches up his back.

"You going to show me how much, then?"

Later Vlad slumped back against Robin's pillows, watching as the other man wriggled back into his jeans.

"You should just leave them off," he suggested. "Lie down with me for a bit."

The thought made him feel stupidly happy. Perhaps he could even stay until just before dawn, and wake up with Robin wrapped in his arms. That was how he always wanted to wake up, he decided quickly.

Robin shook his head, "Can't. I'm going out in," he snagged his shirt from the floor and looked at his watch, "twenty minutes."

"Oh." Vlad tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Nah," Robin pulled a face and fussed with his hair in front of the mirror. "You wouldn't like it; it's not your scene." He turned to face him, "Lot's of people, loud music. You know."

Vlad knew.

He had gone once, when Robin was still new here, and the mask of arrogance he'd been wearing ever since he'd first met him was so cracked Vlad had been scared it was going to shatter completely. Robin was so vulnerable underneath he didn't think he'd last the week, let alone another two years.

So they had ended up in a club, the pulse of the music in his ears warring with the pulse at Robin's jugular he could _sense_. It had been awful, bloodlust washing over him until he wasn't even aware of his own actions. If someone hadn't jarred him Robin wouldn't be going out either, and that was a fact.

"Hey," Robin said then, taking note of his expression. The bed dipped as he sat, and warm fingers brushed against his cheek. "It's not like I don't _want_ you there."

"Yeah," Vlad managed, and was mortified at the way it sounded. Like he was hurt and upset and wanted Robin to reassure him over and over again. It might be how he felt, but Robin so did not need to know that.

"Will you be in tomorrow?" He asked, thankful when his voice stayed level. "We could watch a film." Robin looked uncertain and Vlad went on hurriedly, before Robin could say no, "Or I could take you out, for a meal or something."

Robin laughed, "You don't need to do that." He leaned in and kissed Vlad slowly, the slick swipe of his tongue making Vlad squirm all over again. Robin pressed one last chaste kiss to his lips and stood, "I'll be in all night tomorrow, promise."

Vlad was already making plans.

**

* * *

**

"What are you so disgustingly happy about?" Ingrid sniped the following evening, just as he was putting the plan in to action.

"Nothing," Vlad grinned. "Except for the fact I'm going to spend the night with my gorgeous boyfriend."

Ingrid's lip curled in distaste, "Branagh is many things, but gorgeous is not one of them." She cocked her head to one side, as if in consideration. "Then again, for someone with standards as low as yours…"

"Haha," Vlad said, deadpan. "You're just so hilarious, Ingrid."

As he headed back towards the crypt, to collect his stuff, he heard her parting shot,

"I know!"

**

* * *

**

Vlad didn't like to just turn up in Robin's room. It seemed rude. And potentially dangerous. It would be kind of hard to explain it away if Robin had friends round. So, instead, he made for the densely packed tree surrounding Robin's halls of residence, and walked the rest of the way.

He still couldn't believe that the excitement making his skin tingle, and his heart have a go at kickstarting, was actually justified. He'd walked the same path so many times before, the same feelings flooding through him just at the prospect of spending a few hours in Robin's company.

That's what he'd been doing when their relationship had finally changed, _progressed_. Robin had put some awful film on, more soft porn than horror with dialogue so wooden it was matching the visible bulge in the leading man's trousers. The vampiress, all fake fangs and fake breasts, had been writhing around and Vlad had realised too late the effect it was having on him.

It wasn't even as if the film was hot, it was just the combination of breathy moans and Robin's proximity. Robin had turned to look at him, mouth open to say something Vlad would never now find out, and he hadn't been able to resist. Had kissed him and kissed and kissed him, pressing Robin back against the narrow bed when he started kissing him in return.

He had always imagined it would be awkward at first, that he wouldn't know what to do. But it had come naturally, Robin snaking a hand between them and making him gasp open mouthed into the crook of Robin's neck. Afterwards Robin had smiled at him dopily and said it made them best friends with benefits.

When Vlad looked up he was already at the main entrance and he pushed down the corridor to Robin's room quickly, trying and failing to ignore the incessant _noise_.

_"I just haven't got the time, mum. You know that."_

_"Surely Locke has a point though?"  
"That all depends on your interpretation."_

_"So, right, he just comes right up to me and asks, have you thought about it yet?"  
"Oh my God!"  
"I know! And, the thing is, I'm totally considering it."  
"I say, go for it. Nobody even needs to know."_

Vlad didn't wait for Robin to shut the door behind them before kissing him. Robin blushed prettily and Vlad couldn't help but love him all the more for it,

"I've brought food," he said, holding up the carrier bag he'd fetched with him. "And drink," he held up the other. "And I know you don't have any lectures tomorrow. So," he put the bags on Robin's bed and moved in close to him, until their lips were almost touching, "we don't need to leave this room for quite some time."

If the way Robin's breath hitched as he dropped his head to suck at Robin's throat was anything to go by, Vlad thought he thoroughly approved of the idea.

**

* * *

**

Over the next few weeks Vlad spent as much time at Robin's as he possibly could. Which, considering he had to head Council four nights a week and was, essentially, a prisoner during daylight hours, was nowhere near as much as he would have liked.

Robin didn't take it personally or anything no, for which he was glad. He hated the thought of Robin being upset with him. Now more than ever.

"Will you stop _smiling_!?" His chief advisor, a stern looking vampire by the name of Gregori, hissed one night a few weeks later, tapping one long fingernailed hand against the laminated list of Chamber rules.

No hummingNo singingNo breathers (unless for refreshment)No hell houndsNo smiling

_**Târgovişte thanks you for your cooperation.**_

Vlad did his best to school his face into a neutral expression and went right back to daydreaming about Robin. They'd been going out for nearly three months. In vampire terms it was time to bring him the blood of a virgin and ask for his hand. He didn't think Robin would appreciate that though.

Or, he conceded, Robin might appreciate the virgin too much and Vlad would be forced to shed blood himself.

The jealousy was genetic, he couldn't help it.

Either way, he wasn't sure what the breather equivalent might be. It wasn't as if he'd ever actually dated one before. Delila didn't count. She had sneered at him and given him the push, and if that didn't have the hallmark of haughty vampiress all over it, he didn't know what did.

Ingrid's example wasn't much use on that front either. She hadn't been seeing Will three months before she'd sank her fangs into his jugular and made him combustible in sunlight. Vlad really didn't think they were at that stage yet. Robin would only resent him once he realised how mind-numbingly boring daytime TV really was.

The cooking of food you couldn't stomach, chat shows so dismal even a zombie would hold their nose up at them, and endless property shows.

Vlad thought there was a reason why so many vampire stories revolved around relocating castles.

The question occupied his attention all the way through the rest of the meeting, and by the time Minister's Questions rolled around, he was still no closer to an answer.

**

* * *

**

_"Mum, I've told you before. I'm perfectly capable of managing on my own."_

_"You're turning me into an existentialist."  
"I consider that a compliment."_

_"I did it!"  
"No way! What was it like?"  
"Let's just say that, for a geek, he knows what he's doing."  
"Oh **my** God!"_

The shrill conversation grated on his nerves and Vlad knocked at Robin's door again, wanting to be further away from it. Robin wasn't wearing a shirt when he let him in, and his hair was all over the place. The bed was unmade and the curtains were drawn.

"Have you been sleeping all day?" Vlad asked, taking it in with a frown. "You're not a vampire yet, you know!"

Robin just grinned at him lazily in return. "I was just going to 'ave a shower. You can come with me if you want."

Vlad thought that was the sort of offer you really couldn't refuse.

"Can't we get into trouble for this?" Vlad asked when they reached the shower rooms, glancing up and down the corridor anxiously. Robin smirked,

"Who's going to know?" Warm fingers wrapped around his wrist, and Vlad stopped resisting, stripping off and letting Robin push him under the spray of the shower. Who indeed?

If he had it his way, Vlad thought as he raised livid bruises down the length of Robin's throat, _everyone_.

* * *

It was around 4am when he got back to the castle and he could tell instantly that something was wrong. Really wrong, not just Ingrid on the warpath wrong. And that was bad enough.

"There's been an… incident," Gregori told him once the formalities of bowing and 'Your Grandness'-ing had been got out of the way. Vlad didn't miss the hesitation in the man's voice.

"What sort of incident?"

It turned out the incident involved rebel vampires and Latvian warlocks and lots of innocent Hungarian children. He had to make statements, and address the Council, and attend top secret meetings with the Hungarian branch of the Slayer's Guild.

Just the proximity of all those slayers was enough to give him nightmares.

Combined with an hour or two of ceremonial staking, and being forced to go and watch the children's parents identify their bodies, Vlad didn't think he was ever going to sleep well. When his presence was – eventually – no longer required, he was proved right.

He tossed and turned in his coffin, the fear in the eyes of the vampires the guild had rounded up flashing in his mind. The sobs, and the screams, and the lifeless little faces at the mortuary.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer and, pausing only long enough to check it was dark out, went to see Robin.

**

* * *

**

It was much later than he usually arrived, and for once there was no bassline emanating from the second floor. He pushed the main door open carefully and made his way to Robin's room.

Even the chatter in the corridor was quiet, and Vlad tried to bang on the door relatively quietly. When there was no answer he tried again, louder. There was still nothing and, checking nobody was around, pressed his ear to the door.

Silence.

Robin must have gone out, he thought, swiping a hand across his face quickly to offset the stinging behind his eyelids. There was no way he could go back to his coffin. Instead he concentrated and got inside the way he really wasn't supposed to. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Once inside he kicked his shoes off, loosened his cape, and fell into Robin's bed. It smelt like Robin – comforting – and he burrowed down into the blankets.

Robin wouldn't mind him being there, he was sure of it.

**

* * *

**

It took him a moment to work out where he was. His mind felt slow and groggy, and he knew from the continued darkness that he couldn't have been asleep long. There was rattling at the door and then the flick of a light switch, the sudden brightness making Vlad squint.

He almost wished it would have blinded him.

"Oh my God!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere, and the one that followed it.

"Vlad, what are you doing here!?"

The girl had wound herself around Robin, and Vlad could see smears of lipstick across the marks he had left on Robin's throat.

He felt sick.

"He's a friend," Robin was murmuring. "Why don't you go back to your room and I'll be there in a minute, yeah?"

She giggled and nodded and Vlad wasn't surprised to feel the tips of his fangs against his bottom lip.

"Vlad, mate," Robin slurred, slumping down on the bed next to him, "she is _fit_. An' I am well in there."

"You've been sleeping with her," Vlad said, more of a statement than a question. His voice sounded oddly hollow to his ears, and it matched the void in his chest where his heart ought to be.

Robin nodded, grinning dopily at him. "Couple of weeks now."

It felt like static in his head, buzzing against his temples, merging with the anger and the tears making his throat ache. "But what about me?"

Robin frowned, confused. "I can ask, but I don't know if she'll say yes."

And that was it, like a switch snapping within him. He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, or the smell of her perfume on Robin's skin, or just the marrow deep jealousy threatening to consume him, but Vlad had Robin pressed back against the wall and fangs bared in seconds.

"That's not what I meant." It came out of his mouth as a snarl and Robin shrank back against the wall, eyes wide with understanding,

"But you knew it wasn't anything serious, Vlad," Robin told him, voice wavering slightly. "You said so yourself, friends with benefits."

Vlad had to clench his eyes tight shut or he'd have done something he was sure he'd regret.

"That's what _you_ said."

He could feel the panicked hammering of Robin's heart vibrating between them, and the buzzing in his head was growing worse. He wanted to kill, put a fist through the wall. Something. Anything.

What he _did_ was suck in unnecessary air and push himself away from the wall. Shove on his shoes and pick up his cape without once looking at Robin. Because, if he did, he wouldn't be able to control himself.

"Vlad?" Robin tried, tentative, and still he refused to look back. "I thought you knew. I was sure you knew."

He could hear excited chattering in the corridor, everyone wanting to know what the commotion was about. Vlad finally met Robin's gaze and didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the honesty written across his face. He just shook his head and clutched his cape tighter,

"You thought wrong."

**

* * *

**

_"Of course I stayed out of it, mum. It's none of my business."_

_"He's got no chance. Once bitten, twice shy, that's what they say."  
"First time I've heard you talking sense, that."_

_"I told him where to go, obviously."  
"Oh my God, I still can't believe it."  
"How do you think **I **feel!?"_

_"If you get this message will you **please** just ring me back? Just to let me know you're okay? I'm really sorry."_

Vlad pressed his forehead against the door, working up the nerve to knock. He shouldn't do this, it was stupid. _He_ was stupid. Robin was definitely stupid. He heard Robin drop his phone, and his own stopped trying to tell him he should answer it, and he raised his knuckles to the wood.

He was just a glutton for punishment.


	87. Chapter 87

_**Drabble for fandomwords100 prompt 'first / last'.  
**_

* * *

"I was thinking –"

"Well, they do say there's a first time for everything."

"Shut up."

Vlad smirked into his lunch, waiting for Robin to continue.

"I was thinking, about the camping holiday."

"You want to go?" Vlad grinned, "Aw, it'll be awesome."

Robin shook his head, "Get real, Vlad. I was thinking –"

"We've established that."

"Do you 'ave to make everything so difficult!? I was going to say: do you want to come round while my parents are away, but now –"

Vlad pressed a kiss to his cheek, uncaring of the way everyone stared,

"I'd love to."


	88. Chapter 88

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)** _**_To get through to Vlad, Robin realises he'll have to play him at his own game.' Inspired by, but in no way connected to, the "Chronicles of Life and Unlife" series by werepuppyblack._**

* * *

"She won't want to see you again."

"Oh, believe me," Vlad smirked nastily at Robin. "She will."

He leaned back in his chair and watched the play of emotions across Robin's face – anger, fear, jealousy, resignation. Robin had always been useless at hiding anything.

Back when he'd been little Vladdy Count he would have given almost anything to see that flash of jealousy on the other man's face. Would have acted like some pathetic lovesick brat and touched his fingertips to Robin's cheek, told him he was sorry for upsetting him.

Little Vladdy Count was dead and buried.

Instead Vlad shifted forward and brazenly trailed cold fingers up the inside of Robin's clothed thigh. Sneered at the way Robin's eyes fell shut, the way his pale cheeks flamed with colour.

"If this is what you wanted, you should have just told me," he whispered, the mocking tone of his voice making it clear this was no attempt at romance. "Perhaps I wouldn't even have had to _fuck_ your little sister."

Robin's eyes flew open at that, and his fingers closed tightly around Vlad's wrist, wrenching his hand away from his thigh. "Don't touch me." The words were clipped and cold and, had he been Vladdy, he would have begged Robin's forgiveness.

As it was he swept to his feet, leaning down to hiss in Robin's ear, "You don't mean that. Meet me at mine at 8:30. Don't be late," before leaving the coffee shop without a backwards glance.

**

* * *

**

It was 8:33 exactly when Vlad sensed Robin's presence, pacing outside the huge wooden door. He grinned to himself in triumph – not that he'd ever seriously believed Robin wouldn't show – and opened it, making Robin jump in surprise.

Vlad bowed theatrically and swept an arm out, "welcome to my humble abode."

Robin stepped inside cautiously and looked around. It was the first time he'd been inside the castle since Vlad had returned to Stokely. When they met at all, it was always on neutral ground.

The door slammed loudly, the chandelier above the filthy table trembling with the force of it. Robin startled again as Vlad appeared in front of him, so close he could feel the ghost of Vlad's unnecessary breath on his cheek.

"Vlad, I –"

Vlad silenced him with a brutal kiss, biting at Robin's bottom lip, before fisting one hand into Robin's thick hair. He pulled at the handful violently, enjoying the way tears of pain sprang to Robin's eyes, then used the hold to push Robin down onto his knees.

"What's wrong Robin? I thought," he pulled harder at Robin's hair, forcing him to expose the long column of his throat, "that this was what you'd always wanted?"

Robin was breathing harshly, fear warring with something else entirely.

"I thought," Vlad went on, tone low and threatening, "that we had come to an agreement." He punctuated that with another twist to his hair, wanting to hurt Robin. To make him understand that he wasn't who Robin thought he was. That he wasn't some sappy lovesick teenager with a crush on his best friend.

He leaned in closer, to hiss in Robin's ear, "You can't back out now."

"Just stop it!"

Vlad hadn't been expecting Robin to retaliate so swiftly, stumbled unsteadily as Robin wrenched himself free with a strength Vlad could hardly credit. Robin was still taller than him and, once he was on his feet, Vlad was forced to look up as Robin stepped in closer. As he touched a hesitant hand to his arm.

The heat soaked in through his shirt sleeve, like a brand, and then Robin was sliding his palm over the material, both of them watching. He didn't stop when he reached the pale skin of Vlad's wrist, tracing heated patterns across the back of his hand and linking their fingers together.

His other hand came up to touch Vlad's cheek gently, the way Vlad had earlier imagined he might have once done himself. He met the other man's gaze warily, unsure as to what Robin was planning. Robin's eyes were dark and full of some emotion which Vlad couldn't place but made his chest constrict, all the same.

"Why do you always 'ave to act like such a heartless bastard?" Robin murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips. And, then, before he had any hope of answering Robin's mouth was pressed against his own, soft and undemanding. Nothing like the violent way Vlad had clashed their teeth together.

When Robin pulled back, Vlad tried to follow, unable to stop himself.

"See," Robin grinned at him, "that wasn't so bad, was it?" Vlad said nothing and Robin's expression faltered, all trace of humour wiped away. "I want you, Vlad," Robin told him, a desperate edge to his tone that made Vlad struggle to keep his own expression neutral. "I've always wanted you."

Vlad carefully avoided making eye contact.

"But you 'ave to meet me halfway," Robin said, disentangling the hand Vlad hadn't realised was still entwined in his own. He felt strangely bereft without it. Robin touched fingers to his jaw instead, forcing Vlad to looks at him. "If all you want is someone to fall into bed with, then," he shrugged slightly, casually. Vlad could see the effort it took, the tension in Robin's shoulders. "You'll 'ave to find someone else."

Vlad stared at Robin, momentarily stunned into silence. He should laugh at him; tell him how little he cared what Robin _wanted_. If he picked his words carefully he could have Robin sobbing, could have him going home and pressing the sharp blade of his razor back against his wrist. Vlad looked down at his hand, the warmth of Robin's skin still lingering, and realised he couldn't do it. Aloud he said,

"And what makes you think I'd want anything more than a quick fuck from _you_?"

His voice was nowhere near as confident as he'd wanted it to be, a quick glance at the other man's face told him that Robin knew it too.

Robin ignored the question. "You still dream about me, Vlad? I bet you do." Vlad kept still, motionless as Robin stepped closer, until he was so close he was crooning in Vlad's ear. His breath was hot against his skin, and Vlad shivered all over. "Why else would you keep meeting me?" Robin pushed. "It's not like I even pay for your coffee."

For the first time in years Vlad felt ashamed, realising that Chloe must have already told Robin everything. Robin continued, voice suddenly low and dangerous, "I could treat you like dirt, Vlad. It's what you deserve. But - " the words fanned across his cheek and down his neck, and Vlad threaded his hand back into Robin's hair, the touch free of malice. " - I'm going to give you a second chance."

Robin held Vlad's gaze, the quiet confidence in his eyes unnerving. Vlad was used to being in control.

"Either we do this on my terms, or," Robin sucked in an obviously fortifying breath, "we don't do it at all." He stepped out of Vlad's reach. "It's your choice."

The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity, Vlad unsure how Robin had managed to turn the tables against him so swiftly. He'd envisaged the night going one of two ways. Either he would scare Robin off for good, or he'd gain another little fuck buddy, happy to jump at his every command. He hadn't expected to see Robin, arms folded across his chest, determined and demanding.

"Fine." Robin snapped eventually, and Vlad could _hear_ the way Robin had to push it past the lump in his throat.

His footsteps echoed across the room and Vlad swallowed thickly, a hundred options ricocheting through his head. He didn't need Robin anyway. Didn't need to see the disappointment in his eyes every time Vlad did something that Vladdy would never have even dreamed of. Didn't need to see the glimmer of hope every time he managed the opposite.

"Ave a nice unlife, Vlad," Robin muttered at the doorway and it jolted him into action, the finality making him feel sick and hollow.

It took all his strength to bypass his pride and murmur, "Don't go."

Robin looked at him expectantly, the hint of hope that made Vlad turn up on time to their appointments and keep tabs on him through his bedroom window late at night written clear on his every feature.

"I'm not - Vlad hesitated, forcing himself to continue. "I'm not who you want me to be."

He cringed as soon as he said it, feeling exposed and vulnerable. This was what it came down to, what it _always _came down to. If he hated what he had become, how could he expect different from anyone else?

"Vlad," Robin said, rough and strained like it had been as emotional to hear as it had been to say, and Vlad found himself crushed against Robin's chest, arms wrapped tight around him. Vlad couldn't even find it in him to protest at being treated like a girl, not if it meant Robin would hold him like this forever.

He'd been an idiot to think he didn't want it.

Robin pressed a kiss into his hair, and Vlad clung to him gratefully. If Robin thought he was worth the effort then perhaps he was. The thought made him cling tighter. When Robin finally put space between them he kept his hands on Vlad's upper arms, like he couldn't bear to let go completely, and Vlad tried not to let on how glad he was. Robin just smiled at him, wide and genuine, and said,

"You 'ave to let me be the judge of that."


	89. Chapter 89

Robin thinks that this _so_ wasn't how he planned on becoming undead. For one thing, it wasn't going to smell this bad. And he wasn't going to be dripping sweat and panting like an idiot. Well, maybe, but Vlad was a bit of a prude when it came to that sort of thing, so probably not.

They're closing in on him now though, shuffling closer and closer, and he has nowhere left to run. Not that his lungs could take it if he did. The twins would laugh, he thinks grimly, if they could see. His dad would tell him it was his own fault for skiving off games every week.

Well, he'd tell his dad to take a hike.

It was all his fault anyway. 'Go and see if Vlad needs any help,' he'd said. 'Isn't it exciting?' He'd gone on. 'A real life rock band in Stokely.' That had been enough to make him laugh. Vlad wouldn't know a rock band if it threw an actual rock at him. So, if he wanted to promote integration through song, Robin was more than happy to let him do it out of his earshot.

Although, right now, even a whole evening's worth of Vlad's CD collection seems like heaven compared to the nightmare he's found himself in.

Gangrenous fingers reach out towards him and Robin screws his eyes tight shut, not wanting to see. The hiss of 'brains' fills his ears and he's suddenly glad no one's around to witness the way his left leg is shaking with fear.

He could always make out it's got something to do with lactic acid, he supposes.

And, then, another voice joins the fray, more 'brains' but with the weird mix of Welsh and Romanian inflection that can only belong to one person. _Vlad._ It feels like the bottom's dropped out of his stomach, and they haven't even touched him.

He can't bear to look for real now. Because they'll never be able to make things work if Vlad starts losing body parts all over the place. Then again, he reasons, the chanting growing louder around him, it's not like he's going to notice. He's going to be tied up himself with the whole 'I'm here to partake of your grey matter' routine for the foreseeable future.

_Something_ touches his sleeve and Robin jumps in fright, presses back against the wall and prays it's not going to hurt too badly.

"Brains, braaains, brainssss."

Just get on with it, he thinks desperately, wondering why they haven't done it yet. Another seconds passes, and another, and he can't take it any longer, forces his eyes open.

Vlad is facing down their ring leader. At least, he assumes it's their ringleader. She looks more ragged than the rest of them. Either way, it stirs something deep inside him that, even zombified, Vlad remembers they're supposed to be best mates.

"Brrrains. Braaains." Vlad says, and Robin could swear that last is meant to be a question.

"Brainsss," She responds, mouth twisting into a grotesque smile, revealing a mouthful of broken teeth. Robin resists the urge to clench his eyes tight shut again.

"Bra-ins," Vlad nods. And then he's _laughing_. Which is weird because Robin didn't think zombies could laugh. But then he didn't think you could succumb to undeath twice either, so that shows how much he knows.

He rethinks his position when Vlad finally turns to face him, looking suspiciously healthy and grinning all over his face.

"This is that band I was on about, Zombie Apocalypse."

Robin looks from Vlad to the mangy crowd of unwashed undead, and back again. "But they're actually zombies." There's more to be said but, right now, he's not sure he can manage it.

"I know," Vlad looks triumphant, "that's the best bit. The Zombie League loves me. I'm like a zombie pin up!"

That's not something Vlad should be proud of, he's certain.

He takes a moment just to let it sink in. He's alive. Vlad's, well, not alive, but he's not going to be chanting 'brains' through every movie they go and see, so that's okay.

"They just got a bit carried away," Vlad continues, like he's apologising for forgetting to text him back rather than the fact he nearly got his skull smashed open. "You should be flattered."

Robin takes one look at the zombies – they're retreating now, shuffling away down the corridor and sharing excitable murmurs of 'brains' – and shakes his head. "I'm not."

It's only later he thinks to ask what Vlad had found so funny. Vlad just grins and pats him on the knee,

"They said you run like a girl."


	90. Chapter 90

_**Blue Blooded: Written for +fiction_drabbles prompt #53 'darkness'. Darkness made me think "creatures of the night!" Inspired by election fever. =D**_

* * *

"We don't want any of _their_ kind around here," Mr. Branagh was saying, "nothing but blood suckers they are, the lot of them."

"_Graham_," Mrs. Branagh scolded, "Just because they're a little… different to you, it doesn't make them bad people."

"His dad's one," Robin pointed out. Mr. Branagh's expression soured still further.

"Come on, Vlad," Robin sighed, scrunching up the pamphlet that had started it. "Let's get out of here."

"Don't worry, love," Mrs. Branagh soothed, laying a hand on her husband's arm. Mr. Branagh raised a questioning eyebrow and she smiled,

"Mr. Count's not even eligible to vote!"


	91. Chapter 91

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

"As you all know, the 'prom'," Mr. Jenkins hooked his fingers in the air, "is this Saturday. May I remind you that, firstly, there _is_ a dress code. And, _yes_, it does apply to you too, Stevens."

Stevens tugged at the front of his track jacket with both hands, in a 'what of it' gesture. Mr. Jenkins rolled his eyes.

"Secondly, the tickets are for you and a date. If you haven't managed to find one, tough, the difference is non-refundable."

Jenkins strode from the room, leaving everyone to talk excitedly amongst their selves.

"Who are you bringing then, Branagh?" Price leaned over the back of his chair, smirking at Davis before continuing, "Your sister?" They both fell about laughing.

"No. I 'ave a date. A really fit date, _actually_."

"Yeah, right! Nobody'd be seen dead with you."

"Wait and see, Price. Wait and see."

* * *

"Vlad, please! You 'ave to 'elp me!"

Vlad looked up from his letter writing ('_Mrs. Von Karstein, I was very concerned to hear of your complaints regarding Clause B of the new 'Be Polite, don't Bite' policy. Please be assured that we are doing everything within our power to work through these initial teething problems…'_). "Just ask someone from school."

"You know nobody from school would go to the prom with me." Vlad shrugged slightly in agreement. "It doesn't 'ave to be Ingrid. You must know loads of fit women, from the Council and stuff. Just set me up with one for _one_ night. I'm begging you, Vlad."

Vlad sighed and leaned back in his chair. Robin plastered his 'I'm your best friend, you love me' smile across his face.

Vlad shook his head, "Oh, _alright_. I'll see what I can do."

Robin grinned gratefully. "Thanks Vlad, you're the greatest."

* * *

"This one?" Robin held up a black shirt with red piping on the collar and cuffs, "or this one?" He replaced it with a black shirt with upturned crosses on the collar wings.

Chloe folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "It won't make much of a difference, Robin. You're still going to look like a loser."

"Thank you _so_ much, Chloe." Robin responded sarcastically. "Anyway, Vlad says the girl he's found me is hot. I won't look like such a loser with a fit vampire on my arm, will I?"

"Robin," Chloe sighed, "you could turn up with _Rachel Bilson_ and you'd still look like a loser."

"Whatever. I don't need your 'elp."

Chloe was just outside her bedroom door when the cry she'd been waiting for came. "But, er, could I borrow your hair straighteners for a bit?"

* * *

"Hi, Ingrid."

Ingrid wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Vlad!"

Vlad emerged in the doorway, wearing a well cut black suit and a red silk shirt.

"_Nice_ outfit."

"Thanks." Vlad grinned at him.

"So, where's my date then?" Robin tried to peer round Vlad into the castle.

"Here."

Robin looked around him. "Where?"

Vlad made a gesture at himself. "_Here_."

"Oh. My. God."

* * *

"Oh no, I can see Price. That's it, we _cannot_ go in there!"

"Robin, calm down. You said you wanted a fit date; I didn't have anything planned for this evening. What's the problem?"

"What's the problem!" Robin hissed. "I'll tell you what the problem is Vlad. I'm a guy, you're also, if it hasn't escaped your notice, a guy. Do you know what that means?"

Vlad looked at him placidly.

"It means," Robin flung his arms out in exasperation, "that I'm going to look really really _really_ gay!"

"Boys," Mr. Jenkins approached them from his post on the door, "are you going in or not? I haven't got all night to stand around listening to Branagh whining."

Vlad nodded and handed the ticket over, strolling into the hall like he hadn't just been having a blazing argument with his supposed date. Robin glowered and sputtered and pulled at his hair in frustration before, finally, giving in and following Vlad inside.

* * *

"Aye aye." Price nudged Davis as they walked in, within moments the entire hall was void of chatter, every eye on Robin and Vlad.

"Thought you'd topped yourself, Count." Price looked him up and down; scowling at the interested look _his_ date was giving Vlad.

"So, is this your 'fit' date then, Branagh? Is Count your_ boyfriend_?" Davis snickered.

Robin tried to think up something plausible and or witty - either one would be good - but Vlad was too quick. "Yeah, I am actually." He looked around menacingly. "Anyone got a problem with that?"

Price shrugged but Davis looked away.

Vlad smirked nastily. "I didn't think so."

* * *

"I can't believe you did this to me, Vlad." Robin stared at his non-alcoholic beer miserably. "You're supposed to be my _best_ friend." He looked up at Vlad accusingly. "I just wanted to look cool for one night. Just one _poxy_ night. Is that really so much to ask?"

Vlad's expression grew serious and he touched Robin's arm. "Is it really that bad?"

Robin jerked his arm away. "_Yes_, Vlad, it is! _You _don't know what it's like!" He looked away to hide the beginning of tears; this was the worst night of his life. He continued angrily,

"It's alright for you because '_Vladdo the Saddo'_ magically transformed into '_Vlad the Irresistible'_ when you turned sixteen. Me." He turned back to Vlad and jabbed a finger at his own chest viciously. "I'm going to be '_Branagh the freak'_ for the rest of my life!"

With that he pushed back from the table and stormed off in the direction of the toilets. He might be a loser, but he was not going to cry in front of _anyone_.

* * *

By the time he re-emerged his puffy eyes looked almost normal. He started to make for the bar, with the intention of salvaging what little credibility he had left, only to find Vlad waiting for him in the corridor.

"Not now, Vlad."

Vlad stepped in front of him, holding his arms gently. "Just hear me out, Robin. Please."

Robin sighed but made no attempt to escape.

"When you asked me to find you a date, I thought of loads of girls who'd be happy to go with you." Robin snickered bitterly, what an obvious lie. "But," Vlad dragged a hand through his hair, looking more like the nervous boy he'd once been, "I was selfish._ I_ wanted to go with you."

Robin scowled at him. "If you'd wanted to come, Vlad, I could have got you your own ticket. You only had to ask."

"No." Vlad bit his lip for a moment. "_I_ wanted to go _with_ you. Do you see what I'm saying?"

The door from the hall opened and Robin stayed silent as two girls went past, staring at them curiously and giggling. Once they were gone he looked at Vlad bleakly.

"What did you think I was going to do?" He asked quietly. "Be so 'appy someone liked me I'd fall straight into your arms?" Vlad didn't answer and Robin looked down at his hands. "I just – I need to think about this, Vlad."

He pushed his way through the hall, and made his way outside, his head reeling.

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd been outside, but he was shivering with cold by the time a touch to his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Vlad carrying two plastic cups. Vlad sat down next to him and handed him one.

"I'm really sorry, Robin." Vlad looked straight ahead. "It was a stupid thing to do. I know you don't like me like _that_ and – and now I've ruined your prom."

Robin swirled the liquid round his cup. "Nah, it would 'ave been rubbish anyway." He took a deep swallow, more for the distraction than anything else. "At least they think I can pull _someone _now." He sighed. "Even if it is you."

"You called me '_Vlad the Irresistible'_ earlier."

Vlad was trying for his usual cool confidence but Robin could see it was a front. He wondered just how much of Vlad's bragging and posturing over the last few months had been nothing but a front.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

Robin put the cup down carefully. He'd been thinking about Vlad's confession. About what it meant. About what it _could_ mean, if he let it. It wasn't even as if he'd ever really thought about Vlad like that before and, yet, the idea was nowhere near as repulsive as he thought it probably _should_ be.

He swallowed nervously and placed a hand over Vlad's, hoping Vlad could take it from there because he wasn't sure he had the nerve. Vlad stared at him, eyes wide, for a long moment before whispering, "Robin, are you sure?"

Robin nodded, not trusting his voice. Vlad set his own cup down clumsily, sliding his newly free hand along Robin's jaw. His gaze was dark and intense, and Robin was no longer certain if he was shivering from cold or anticipation.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and hard and cold and hot all at the same time and, when Vlad pulled back, to study his reaction with careful eyes, Robin was only slightly terrified to realise he wanted to do it again. Vlad smiled at him reassuringly and stood, tugging Robin to his feet.

"Come on, it won't be a proper prom 'til we go and dance."

* * *

Later, pressed close against Vlad as the soppy last few records were played, basking in the envious glances he was getting – at least he hadn't lied, Vlad _was_ pretty fit - Robin decided that he'd been overly hasty in his judgement.

Tonight was, in fact, shaping up to be probably the _best_ night of his entire life.


	92. Chapter 92

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :)  
**_

* * *

Vlad has only ever wanted to be normal. It's been his only wish at every birthday, every Christmas, every time he looks at the night sky. Here, at the Branaughs', playing computer games with Robin, that wish is closer to becoming reality than it has ever been. And, it would be _so_ perfect, Vlad thinks, if there wasn't one thing ruining the illusion.

Because, pressed tight up against Robin on the narrow bed, he should want to revel in the normalcy, be elated at the fit of the controller in his palm – and he would – were it not for the intermittent grunts from Robin as he concentrates on hitting the thumb pad in the right formation.

It's _definitely_ the grunts that are ruining it, Vlad thinks. Well, that and the frustrated way Robin squirms against him as he pummels the playstation controller harder. And - and, the way Robin keeps licking his lips, all obscene wetness, and the way his hair curls over his ears. Robin whines in pleasure as Vlad's impaired concentration sees his pixellated counterpart get the upper hand. That _something_ that has been hanging by a thread for weeks finally snaps.

"It's your fault!"

His controller sails through the air and smacks into the wall with a resounding crunch.

"I don't want to feel like this!"

Vlad's wondered if this is what blood lust will be like. The simmering excitement, the desperate wanting so close to the surface that it's a struggle to hide it. At night he dreams, horrid twisted dreams of himself all grown up, fangs tingling painfully in anticipation at the sight beneath him. It's always Robin in these dreams and Vlad is certain it shouldn't be. It should be Chloe or Delila or even Kelsey Peterson, she's in the sixth form and has a topless photograph of herself on her Myspace page.

But, no, in his dream he moves closer, the excitement mounting and mounting until his mouth is fixed on _Robin's_ pulse point and the tang of blood is acrid and sweet on his tongue and Robin writhes beneath him, panting and whining like the girls in the films Ian and Paul sometimes let them watch.

Robin's mouth has fallen open in shock, and really, it would be comical if he wasn't so angry. As it is it serves only to infuriate him further. He wants to hit Robin. He wants to get as far away from him as he can. He wants to press closer.

"I-" Robin licks his lips again, for once seemingly lost for words. Vlad takes the opportunity to press his own lips against Robin's. It's awkward and chaste and over far too quickly and then – then the adrenaline leaves him and pure fear takes its place. Robin stares at him wide eyed. Vlad struggles to stay still, to not run, although every muscle in his body is tense in readiness. He braces himself for the fist, the insults, that he knows must be coming.

They never do.

Because, then, Robin is kissing him and it's so much better than before because Robin obviously has some idea of what he's doing. It's wet and it's strange and it's _perfect_, and the way Robin clutches at his shoulders when he experimentally bites at his lower lip is almost enough to make Vlad wonder - for the first time - if being normal is really all it's cracked up to be.


	93. Best Laid Plans

_**Reposting here from the main archive. :) 'Best Laid Plans'  
**_

* * *

"I could do that for you Ingrid."

Ingrid turned and sneered at Robin's enthusiastic grin.

"Branagh, I would sooner give myself a lobotomy with a screwdriver than have you touch me." She struggled with the clasp herself. It was bad enough that Vlad had to have breathers around at all. The least they could do was leave her alone.

It got tiresome, being so popular. Vlad, of course, couldn't understand - being rightly detested by everyone. If he knew what it was like having to fend off the advances of some repulsive, brain-dead, little maggot…

Ingrid stopped. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Not that it mattered. She'd thought of it now, and she was going to put the plan into action.

She gave Robin a false smile. "Look into my eyes."

* * *

Vlad trudged down the stairs, unsurprised to find Robin waiting for him. Robin had taken to knocking for him early in the mornings in the hope of seeing Ingrid, now that she wasn't at school.

"Morning." He called. Ingrid ignored him and Robin just stared at him silently. He answered himself sarcastically, "Good morning Vlad, how are you? Oh, I'm just fine, thanks for asking."

"Talking to yourself?" Ingrid smirked at him. "First sign of madness."

Vlad scowled and made for the door, anticipating the usual battle to get Robin to follow. He didn't know if he was happy or unnerved to find Robin rushing to hold it open for him.

* * *

"Is he alright?" Chloe nudged her head in her brother's direction as she sat down, dropping her book-bag and placing her lunch on the table.

Vlad shrugged at her. Robin was really acting weirdly, following him around like a lost puppy. Not that he didn't normally, it was just that, well, he'd been a lot more insistent about it. He'd done nothing but stare at him all through maths. It was creeping him out.

"Oh, I get it." Chloe followed Robin's gaze, discounting Vlad completely, to the table behind him where Jodie Hughes was sat with her friends. "You're still upset she turned you down."

"Why would I care about _her_?" Robin scowled. Chloe and Vlad shared a look that made it clear how little they believed him.

* * *

"Robin!" Vlad hissed, glancing warily back at their classmates, "What are you doing?"

"Don't you like them?"

Vlad gaped at the other boy. Perhaps he'd taken a rugby ball to the head when he wasn't looking? Mr. Jenkins was striding across the pitch, blowing his whistle as he did so. Vlad could see Richard Price and the other popular boys pointing and laughing.

"What's going on here, lads? This is a rugby match, not a tea party!"

Vlad blushed.

"I just wanted to give Vlad these flowers, Sir. They're his favourites."

The tendons in Mr. Jenkins' neck were swelling up, his face going red with rage. Vlad gave him a look that he hoped said 'it was nothing to do with me!' Just as he was sure Jenkins would have an aneurism, he wrenched the rather pitiful bunch of daffodils from Robin's hand and bellowed, "My office. Now Branagh!"

* * *

"What did old Jenkins say?"

"Hmmm?" Robin looked up, fixing him with the same glass eyed look he'd had all day. "Oh, nothing. Just said I should try and get into your pants on my time, not his."

Robin went back to his drawing and Vlad stared at him in shock. He really hoped that was Robin's idea of a joke. Realising that, either way, Robin wasn't going to say anything else he tried to concentrate on his own artwork. He wasn't very good at art; his owl looked more like road kill than a 'night stalker'; the theme they'd been given for the afternoon.

"That's very good, Robin." Miss Kowalski was making her usual rounds to check they were working; Vlad used his arm to shield the worst of his attempt from her beady eye. Oblivious to Vlad's scheming, she took Robin's sheet and held it up to show the rest of the class.

"Robin's been very imaginative. Vampires are perfect 'night stalkers'."

Vlad looked at it and blanched, there was no way that was a picture of what he thought it was. No way would Robin have drawn a picture of two vampires kissing. _No way_ would he have drawn a picture of two male vampires kissing. **_No way_** would he have drawn a picture of **_him_** kissing Robin…

"Branaugh," Price called from his compulsory seat next to Miss Kowalski's desk, "that's disgusting! No-one wants to see what you and Vlad the Weirdo get up to." The appalled looks on everyone else's faces suggested it was a consensus view.

Vlad just hid his head in his hands.

* * *

Ingrid peered through a crack in the window shutters. Branagh was trailing after Vlad, carrying both of their backpacks. Vlad, she noted with smug amusement, looked terrified. Branaugh bent down to hand over the bag, moving closer to Vlad. Vlad attempted to shrink away from him.

Ingrid grinned in triumph. Her work was done; Vlad was so obsessed with being 'normal', in ten minutes time Branaugh would be out of her hair for good.

* * *

Outside the castle Vlad strained back from Robin, heart thudding in his chest as the other boy's hand came up to cup his cheek.

"Robin-" His '_what_ do you think you're doing!' was cut off by the warm press of Robin's lips against his. Vlad moved his hands up to push Robin away – snogging his best mate on the door step was not really what he'd had in mind when he'd complained that no-one ever liked him like _that_ – but Robin had pressed closer and Vlad found himself simply resting them on Robin's forearms.

Robin angled his head slightly, the hand that had been resting against his cheek pushing into his hair, holding his head in place. And, then, there was the wet swipe of Robin's tongue and Vlad opened his mouth in shock, only for Robin to use the opportunity to delve deeper. The slick stroke of Robin's tongue against his own was doing strange things to his ability to think clearly; his skin was tingling, like he was charged all over with static.

The hand not twined in his hair strayed down to his hip, insistent pressure encouraging him to press closer still to Robin, which he did. Vlad felt light headed and wound his own hands into Robin's hair, clinging to him, afraid he might collapse in a trembling heap if he let go…

"Vlad!" They broke apart reluctantly to see Ingrid stood in the doorway, looking even more malevolent than usual, half shrouded in shadow. "A word!"

Robin kissed his cheek. Vlad blushed and fussed with his bag as Robin called, "I'll see you later, Vlad!" before making his way out of the castle gates. Vlad turned to Ingrid and shrugged.

It seemed she wasn't the only one with the vampiric powers of attraction after all.

* * *

**PART TWO**

* * *

"Quiet!"

The excited chatter died away as Van Helsing glared from the front of the coach.

"Today you will be representing Stokely Grammar. That means I don't want to see any mucking about. And trust me; I shall be keeping a close eye on all of you. Especially _you,_ Count." He pointed at Vlad. "A _very_ close eye."

Miss Kowalski stood and put a hand on his arm. "What Mr. Van Helsing is trying to say, is that we can have fun on this trip _responsibly_. Isn't that right, Mr. Van Helsing?"

Van Helsing 'hmmmed' noncommittally before sitting down, giving Vlad another warning glare as he did so.

* * *

"Robin?"

Robin stared out of the window, ignoring him. Vlad sighed; what was the point? Robin was being stupid, had refused to talk to him since Ingrid had broken her hold over him. Like it was _his_ fault Ingrid was a complete cow.

That wasn't to say Robin hadn't _yelled_ at him. Accusing him of everything from not knowing him ('do I normally try and give you flowers during games!') to taking advantage of the situation ('why didn't you stop me!')

'Because I was enjoying it', although true, hadn't really seemed the right answer, given the circumstances.

Vlad tried again. "Does it really matter what everyone thinks?"

Because, really, did it? He didn't particularly care how many people scrawled _Vlad is a poof_ across the toilet walls, so long as it didn't bother Robin… Vlad put his hand on Robin's arm, trying to show him how he felt.

Robin looked at his hand like it was some venomous spider, before hissing, "Vlad, 'ow many more times do I 'ave to say it?" He got louder, pitching it, Vlad was sure, for all the snobby girls sat in front of them, "I'm not gay!"

The rest of the journey was spent in tense silence.

* * *

They'd been wandering around the art gallery for over an hour and enthusiasm was rapidly waning. Vlad shifted his backpack to the other shoulder as they stopped in front of a seven foot canvas depicting what, Vlad could only assume, were actually _supposed_ to be a series of random splodges.

"What do we think of this then?" Miss. Kowalski motioned at it.

"I think it's gay, Miss. Like Vlad." Price shoved Vlad as he said it. Vlad gritted his teeth and looked over at Robin for support – only for the other boy to steadfastly refuse to meet his gaze.

"Richard! What an awful thing to say." Miss. Kowalski sounded horrified and Vlad let himself hope somebody was finally going to get Price off his case. "This is one of the greatest artworks of the last twenty years!"

* * *

"So, how many of you losers have actually done _it_ yet?"

Price eyed them all up as he took a deep drag on his cigarette. The smoke made Vlad cough, choking on the sandwich Renfield had packed him.

"I have!" Peter Miller piped up.

Vlad didn't think it very likely; you could hardly see Miller for his spots. In fact, Miller was the only boy in their year Vlad was certain the girls preferred him over.

"Your hand doesn't count, Miller." Davis snickered and Price continued, "What about you, Branagh?"

"It's none of your business."

Vlad looked at Robin curiously, not liking the pull of jealousy in his gut at the thought of Robin doing _anything_ with anyone but _him_.

Davis' voice was mocking as he responded, "Aw, I bet Count would let you if you asked him nicely."

"Yeah," Tommo Watson went on, "face it; he's not going to be getting any other offers."

Vlad scowled.

Price took a last drag and flicked the cigarette away, blowing the smoke through his nose. "And you know what?" He said like he was offering advice. "Count's so much of a girl; it probably won't even make you a proper bender."

Robin went deathly pale, his hands clenched at his sides. "Fuck you, Price."

Vlad followed anxiously as Robin strode away, trying to ignore Price's call of 'you wish, Branagh!'

"Robin Branagh? Has anyone seen him?" asked Miss Kowalski, looking up from the clipboard in her hand.

Everyone shook their heads. They were lined up outside the coach, patience waning after another two hours of trudging around the gallery. Vlad realised he hadn't seen Robin for over an hour, not since he had stormed off in the direction of the special exhibition room (currently hosting 'Boats of Death: a Sea Story'), eloquently telling him to 'just leave me the fuck alone Vlad!'

"Can't we just leave him here, Miss?" Davis whined. "I've got a footy match at five."

"No, Andrew, we can't."

The crowd erupted into discontented grumbling.

* * *

"Where is he, Count?"

"I don't know, Sir."

Van Helsing sat next to him, putting an arm round his shoulder like he was comforting rather than threatening. "Come on, Vlad. Accidents happen. You were probably just fooling around," Vlad looked at Van Helsing sharply. "You bit a little too hard. And, suddenly, you're standing over his cold _lifeless_ body."

"No!" Everyone looked and Vlad continued more quietly. "He's my best friend! I wouldn't hurt him."

They looked up at that moment to see Robin being dragged by the arm by an irate looking museum curator.

"This one of yours? I found him underneath a _der Beeke_. At least he came off worse." He waved an arm at the bruise forming on Robin's forehead.

Van Helsing pushed away from Vlad, stalking over to the pair. "Branagh, what did I tell you!"

* * *

"So, it just _fell_ on you?"

Vlad touched his fingertips to the mark on Robin's temple. Robin looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, before a blush spread across his cheeks. He looked away, "I don't want to talk about it, Vlad."

Vlad dropped his hand miserably. Of course, Robin still didn't want to speak to him. _And_ he'd probably have a go about him being too gay about it.

Robin surprised him by hesitantly touching the back of his hand. "Look, I didn't mean – just not here." He swallowed audibly. "Do you want to come round mine when we get back?"

Vlad looked at their hands, then at Robin's face, grinning widely. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Robin smiled back shyly and, for Vlad, not even Davis' call of 'get a room, freaks!' could spoil the moment.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you've not been hypnotised?"

"Yes, Vlad."

"And you're not concussed?"

"No, Vlad."

"And you're not going to yell at me again tomorrow?"

Robin sighed and shifted closer to him. They were sat on Robin's bed, Vlad agitatedly bending a plastic skeleton out of shape.

"_No_, Vlad." He pulled the skeleton out of Vlad's grip and dropped it to the floor. "When that painting fell on me, I realised 'ow stupid I was being – like, you know, on telly when people are about to die and they see their life flash before their eyes?"

Vlad, never having seen much television, just nodded dumbly.

"Well, I thought about you." Robin took his hand. "About 'ow you never ditched me even though everyone thinks I'm a _total_ weirdo." He paused for a moment. "So, if you don't care what they say, I won't either. I –" He looked up at Vlad, more sincere than Vlad had ever seen him. "I really like you, Vlad."

Vlad felt like his heart was melting into a big gooey puddle, the stupid grin he couldn't keep off his face would easily rival anything in the rom-coms Robin so hated, he was sure. In an attempt to stop himself from confessing his undying love like a ten year old girl he asked,

"Does your head still hurt?"

"A bit." Robin smiled at him cheekily, although Vlad could tell he was still nervous. "Maybe you could kiss it better?"

Vlad leant over and pressed a soft kiss to Robin's temple, his heart thumping so hard against his ribcage he was certain Robin could hear it.

He pulled back to look into Robin's eyes. They were hot and dark and Vlad had to clear his throat before he could whisper, "And now?"

Robin gazed at him intently, sliding a hand across the side of his jawbone. "I think we need to try harder."

Vlad just had time to think that, _actually_, he had the best sister in the world, before Robin's lips were on his and coherent thought was rendered all but impossible.


	94. Chapter 94

_**I wrote this for the femgenficathon prompt 161) I want to be remembered as the person who helped us restore faith in ourselves. - Wilma Mankiller (1945-2010), Cherokee activist for Native America rights and women's rights, fund raiser and author of fiction. Best known as the first woman to be elected chief of the Cherokee Nation in her own right (1987 to 1995). I fogot to crosspost it anywhere... oops.**  
_

* * *

"And where were you this morning?"

Ingrid looked around, eyes wide with the innocent look she had once spent weeks perfecting back at Castle Dracula. One never knew when it might come in useful.

"Me?" She asked eventually, when it would have ruined the show to drag it out any longer.

Old Griffiths looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm, the colour in his face rising swiftly. "Yes, _you_."

Ingrid slouched back in her seat, inspecting her fingernails. "That's for me to know, and you to ask questions about. What I will say," she smiled sweetly, "is that I wasn't in this dump."

The room erupted in muffled giggles and Griffiths clenched one hand around the back of his chair. She bet he was imagining wrapping it around her throat.

"You're on thin ice, you know that? If you don't want to be here," he started, low and threatening, "you know where the door is."

She leaned forward deliberately, as if to get a better view of it around the boy sat next to her. Then she stood, enjoying the way every eye in the room was trained on her.

"I do, thanks."

Griffiths breathed heavily through his nose and she paused in the doorway, looking pointedly at her desk. "Branagh," she clicked her fingers, watching as the pair of them lumbered out of their seats, "my bag."

It was all just too easy.

**

* * *

**

"So what acts of destruction did you get up to today?" The Count asked that evening, gaze fond as he watched Vlad chew at the end of his pen, brow furrowed in concentration.

"I was thrown out of my maths lesson, given detention for pouring paint over an art display, and," Ingrid smirked proudly, "I blocked all the sinks in the girls' bathroom."

"Ingrid," the Count said silkily, "if I cared what you got up to I wouldn't keep leaving flesh burrowing zombie ants in your coffin, would I?"

So that's where they were coming from.

"Now, Vlad," the Count went on, "my son and heir, apple of my eye, light of my unlife. What did _you_ do today?"

"I –" Vlad started, keeping his gaze lowered.

"He forgot his games kit and got told off for talking," Robin answered for him.

"Hmmm," the Count frowned. "Improvement."

**

* * *

**

"You're such a little daddy's bat," Ingrid hissed later still, when the Count had flapped through the open window into the night air.

"I didn't ask to be," Vlad told her indignantly. "It's not my fault he likes me better."

"I'd prefer you," Robin added solemnly, gazing up at her with adoring eyes.

Ingrid scowled, "Do you have any idea how repulsive that sounds?"

Robin just stared at her blankly.

"Shouldn't you be going home about now anyway, Branagh? The sight of you is making me feel sick."

Robin looked away for a moment, obviously hurt, and she grinned in triumph, not even bothering to school it into impassivity when Robin stood and told Vlad he'd see him tomorrow.

"What did you say that for!" Vlad rounded on her the instant the peasant left, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with anger. It was about as terrifying as a terrier snapping at her ankles.

"Because," Ingrid said slowly, over enunciating the words, "the sight of him was making me feel sick."

"It's no wonder you don't have any friends!" Vlad snapped.

"I have loads of friends," Ingrid protested. She couldn't go anywhere without people flocking around her, wanting to be close to her.

Vlad snatched up his books from the table, glaring at his sister,

"They are _not_ your friends."

**

* * *

**

Vlad's words played on her mind the next day, while she was sat under the deputy headmistress' beady eye. Detention was always so boring.

What were friends anyway? People who liked you, people who would do anything for you. Anyone could do that, and most of them she didn't even need to hypnotise.

Vlad was wrong, and she was going to prove it.

**

* * *

**

"I'm having a party," she said conversationally at afternoon registration, ignoring Griffiths' attempts to instill order. "Tonight, at seven."

What better way to prove how many friends you had?

"Where to?" Cecily asked eagerly, admiring gaze fixed on her. She was quickly joined by the rest of the class. Ingrid smiled,

"Your house."

"M-my house?" Cecily stuttered, face pale beneath her uneven foundation. Ingrid could have told her that so wasn't her shade. She hadn't though, why encourage competition?

"Yes, that's right. Your house."

**

* * *

**

"Ingrid," Cecily started as they made their way to the art room, "we can't go to my house. My parents will kill me."

"And," Ingrid swatted Paul across the head as he slowed down, causing her backpack to bump against her knees as she walked. She could always find someone else to carry her stuff. "That's my problem, why?"

"I thought we were friends," Cecily said then, accusing.

"We are," Ingrid frowned. "I am bestowing so much cool on you by choosing your place. You should be thanking me."

Emotions flitted across the other girls face, and Ingrid couldn't help but sneer disdainfully. Expressiveness was not something to be valued. It made her think of Branagh.

"If you were really my friend, you'd call this off."

Susie nodded at Cecily's right shoulder, Ashleigh remained impassive. Ingrid knew there was a reason why her company was marginally more tolerable.

"If you were my friend," Ingrid countered, "you wouldn't be complaining."

They stared each other down for one beat, two, before Cecily walked away, eyes overly bright, Susie following. Everyone else turned to look at her, collectively holding their breath as they waited for her reaction. Ingrid turned stiffly, motioning for Ashleigh, and the two girls who had been trying to get her attention for weeks.

"We'll hold it at yours," she said to the first, who squeaked gratifyingly in agreement.

Ingrid slid into her seat and steadfastly refused to turn around.

She was Countess Dracula.

She didn't _need_ friends.


	95. Chapter 95

**_Vlad's attempts to dabble in the black arts result in nothing but chaos. Naturally. Written for plot_wout_porn 2010. Another one I forgot to post there.  
_**

* * *

"Branagh!" Mr. Jenkins called, eyeing him up with obvious distaste, "Stop talking and get changed!" He scrawled something onto his clipboard, and Vlad felt guilty for starting the conversation. Whatever it was, it wouldn't please Mr. Branagh come report time, he was sure. Mr. Jenkins gave them both one last derisory look and shook his head,

"Who knows when I'll next be_ graced_ with your presence?"

"I told you we should 'ave mitched," Robin sulked, wrenching his tie free and starting on his shirt buttons. Vlad gave him a mock glare then pretended to concentrate on folding his own clothes, all the while watching Robin from underneath lowered lashes. There was no way he had been going to throw away what could be his last ever opportunity to watch Robin undress.

Robin, oblivious as usual, continued complaining, "I_ hate_ rugby. An' it's freezing outside." He scowled harder, balling up his shirt and rooting through his kitbag for his rugby shirt. Vlad did his best not to stare. "It's teachers' training day tomorrow," Robin went on, "You know what that means? You're going to leave school now without 'aving mitched a single lesson."

"What's this?" Richard Price demanded, leaning casually against the side of their bench, "You're leaving school?" Vlad kept his gaze down awkwardly; only Ingrid surpassed Price in the making his life a misery stakes.

"Hear that, boys?" Davis called jovially from his side, attracting the attention of the entire changing room, "Count's leaving school."

A cheer went up and Vlad dug crescents into his palm in an attempt to pretend he didn't care. Robin gave him a sheepish half shrug in apology, and Jenkins ordered them all outside, Vlad trailing behind miserably.

He had thought there would be more of a sense of occasion.

**

* * *

**

"Sorry about earlier, Vlad." Robin shifted his backpack slightly, looking uncomfortable, "I didn't mean to let everyone know."

Vlad shrugged, hoping the movement was more nonchalant and less maudlin, "They would have found out on Monday anyway."

"You've got nothing to worry about," Robin told him, voice full of the confidence Vlad couldn't summon, "you're going to be the best Grand High Vampire ever."

Vlad snorted softly. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Robin trying to cheer up; it was just that it wasn't going to work. He was literally_ days_ away from becoming a bloodthirsty monster, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"School is rubbish anyway," Robin went on, "you won't be missing anything." He flashed him a crooked grin then, the one that never failed to make his heart beat faster in his chest. Vlad wondered how he would react to it come Monday. "I'm the only thing worth seeing at Stokely Grammar, an' I'll still come round an' see you every day. Night. You know what I mean."

"That's what you say now," Vlad said quietly, mortified at the lump in his throat and the way his eyes were stinging. He tried to blink it away, finally resorting to pressing a hand to his face. His fingertips met damp and he turned away, glad there weren't too many people around. He didn't need to see Robin's face to picture his expression. Awkward pity, he imagined; Robin would no doubt be wondering why he couldn't just pull himself together and get a grip.

"Vlad?" Robin's tone was soft and the heat of his hand seeped through the fabric of his rugby jersey when he placed it on his shoulder. There were footsteps behind them and Vlad felt worse knowing people were watching, and would tell everyone else what an idiot he was. Robin touched his other hand to his arm and tried again, "Vlad?"

"Look, just-" Vlad pulled free, "leave me alone. Yeah?" He scrubbed his hands across his face and started walking briskly, not waiting for Robin to catch up. When Robin did fall back into step beside him, his long strides making short work of his head start, he kept quiet.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Robin finally asked as they rounded the street corner. Vlad swallowed thickly – because almost-vampires did_ not_ cry – and looked away, up at the imposing silhouette of the castle, and shook his head.

"It won't make any difference, will it?"

**

* * *

**

Vlad cracked an eyelid open tentatively and groaned. "_What_ are you doing?"

"Ah, excellent!" The Count exclaimed to Renfield, peering closely at the reading on the tape measure. To Vlad he said, "Measuring up for your new coffin, of course." He flitted to Vlad's side with unnatural speed, leaning over him, the dangerous glint in his eye making Vlad wish he'd just carried on pretending to be asleep.

"Come Monday you will be a true vampire, Vlad. The Prince of Darkness, feaster on men."

Renfield sniffled loudly, "They grow up so fast, Master."

The Count scowled at him and turned back to Vlad. "It will be a party to remember. Your mother's coming," the Count grimaced, "but, don't worry, that furball won't be darkening our door."

Vlad offered a strained smile, not knowing if the Count was referring to Patrick or Barry. He decided that he didn't really care. "Yeah, sounds great." Staring up at the ceiling he mumbled bitterly, "Can't wait."

"That's the spirit, Vlad!" The Count beamed at him. With a flourish he stood, grimacing and ushering Renfield away when he stepped back into him. Renfield scurried from the room, head bowed. The Count paused in the doorway, "Oh, and I suppose you'll be inviting your peasant friend."

"Robin?" Vlad asked eagerly, brightening at the thought of the other boy.

"Yes," the Count smirked widely, "You'll want a pick me up when you finish." He finished matter of factly, "the boy's blood is all sugar."

With that the Count was gone and Vlad stormed to his own feet, Zoltan peering up at him curiously.

"I am _not_," Vlad shook his head, jaw set with determination, "becoming a vampire."

**

* * *

**

"Master Vlad," Zoltan started cautiously, "I really cannot advise you continue with this course of action."

"No?" Vlad asked sarcastically, scratching out a pentagram on the flagstone floor, "Well, it's a good job I didn't ask for your opinion then, isn't it?"

"The results are unpredictable and-"

Vlad pushed at the stuffed wolf, wheeling him from the room and slamming the door. Nothing was going to stop him from going through with this. He looked around the empty room, one of the many the Count had had no purpose for, gaze falling on the candles and the book he'd brought down from the library. He'd been up all night scouring the place for something that could get him out of this nightmare.

Squaring his shoulders he started lighting the candles, using matches instead of the fire he'd begun to learn to control. He was going to start as he meant to go on. What was losing the ability to start fire compared to being human? To being _him_? When all the candles were lit he sat cross legged in the middle of the pentagram, spreading the book across his lap.

The incantation flowed easily, his Latin having always been much better than his coffin maintenance and target practice. It was as if he could _feel_ it working, the air prickling with tension. As he neared the end of the page there was buzzing in his ears, the air thick and stifling around him. His voice rose and he forced the final syllable passed his lips, the candles extinguished, the door crashing back and hitting the wall.

Vlad looked up in shock, uncertain what he expected to see. It wasn't what he actually saw. Robin, framed against the doorway, looking slightly abashed at the noise he'd made but otherwise unmoved. A grin spread across his face then, gaze lingering on the pentagram and the blood (Ingrid wouldn't miss what she didn't know was gone) smeared across the points of the star.

"Black magic? _Awesome_."

**

* * *

**

"I really thought it was going to work," Vlad admitted quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way into town. Robin gave him a sympathetic smile – still enough to make Vlad's pulse race – and said,

"Come on, cheer up. I'll buy you dinner."

Robin meant, of course, he'd pay for some over salted, reconstituted food washed down with the over-sweetened fizzy pop his dad had long ago banned him from touching. Vlad grinned back gratefully. Maybe if he rotted his teeth enough he wouldn't be able to do anyone any damage. Robin stopped suddenly, holding out a hand to halt Vlad.

"Look at that," he gestured at the poster adorning the side of the bus stop, "I didn't know Zoltox Raven had a new film out." Robin was ogling openly at her low cut top and Vlad scowled at her surgically enhanced face,

"Isn't she a bit old for you? She must be catching _my_ dad up by now."

Robin glared at him, "Haha, very funny." He gave the poster one last admiring glance, then started walking again, shrugging, "I'd still give her one though." Vlad glared back at it before hurrying to catch Robin up. Perhaps, if he had to drain someone, he could live with himself if it were _her_.

Town was busy; Stokely's student population out in force to celebrate a day free from school, Vlad supposed. Looking around at bustle of people Vlad felt oddly unnerved, like there was something different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. He decided that it must be the novelty being out, with Robin, in the fresh air on a school day.

He kept his head down as they walked through the main square, not wanting another confrontation with Price and his group of friends who habitually loitered in the vicinity. Not in the mood he was in at any rate. He might do something stupid, like bust Price's nose in retaliation for every horrid thing he'd ever said to him and Robin. _Especially _Robin.

Vlad wondered suddenly how he'd be feeling if he were Robin, knowing he'd have to face Stokely Grammar on his own every day for the rest of the year, with no one to speak to or sit with. When he glanced up at Robin the other boy was looking over at the ornamental fountain – bubbling away for the first time Vlad could remember – but he looked overly tense. Vlad had to fight back the overwhelming urge to squeeze Robin's hand in reassurance.

Robin, he was beyond certain, would _not_ appreciate the gesture.

"They've done it up again," Robin said, startling him out of his maudlin thoughts. Vlad followed his gaze to the shop front, taking in the lack of day-glo colours and the addition of a smiling effigy of Ronald McDonald outside the main doors. Vlad fell back a step and moved to Robin's other side as they entered.

He didn't like clowns.

"Don't know why they bothered," Robin was saying as they joined the end of the queue. The radio changed tracks and Robin grinned, "Proper retro in 'ere today, innit?" Vlad, who had never really heard anything other than his father's piano and some local folk songs via Renfield before coming to Stokely, shrugged and 'hmmmed' noncommittally.

"Sorry, love," a harassed looking woman said as she manoeuvred a pushchair between them and the people behind, and Vlad moved aside obligingly. Robin was gazing happily at the menu board, rattling off the pros and cons of super-sizing, and Vlad found himself staring curiously at the customers. He didn't recognise anyone from school, even though the place was full of people their age. Even the clothes they were wearing were different, although Robin remained the only goth in the entire establishment.

Vlad liked that about Robin; he was so _proud _of being different. If only, he thought grimly, letting his gaze linger on Robin's artfully gelled hair, Robin could just be a little more different. He looked away guiltily. Wishing things didn't make them come true.

"Do you know what you want, Vlad?" Robin asked, rooting through the pockets of his coat for his wallet, "I'm gonna 'ave –"

Vlad wasn't listening. Instead he was gaping at the two men who had just entered, one tall and stocky with thinning hair. The other was slightly younger – late twenties he'd say - with light brown hair and a friendly smile. He stared a moment longer, warring with the incredulous disbelief the sight engendered.

"Vlad?" Robin pressed, "What do you want to eat?"

He didn't speak, putting a hand on Robin's arm instead and gesturing over at the two figures approaching them. Robin paled – something Vlad hadn't thought was even possible – and gaped for a long moment before recovering enough to speak,

"_Dad_?"

**

* * *

**

"_Dad?_" Robin looked from one to the other, eyes wide, "Uncle Bryn?"

"Is this a joke, son?" The taller of the two – Bryn Vlad corrected himself – asked authoritatively, taking in Robin's head to toe black with a disapproving look. "Because I'm not laughing."

Vlad pressed closer to Robin, not liking the way things were going. Something was wrong, _very_ wrong. Robin was still staring at Bryn's receding hairline,

"What happened to your hair?"

"You little - " Bryn sputtered. The question had obviously touched a nerve.

"We really need to go," Vlad cut in hurriedly, attempting to drag Robin by the arm. He was starting to get an idea of what exactly had gone wrong. And, if he was right, this was the last place they ought to be.

"Not so fast." Bryn shook his head, obviously restraining himself, and took a notebook from his pocket. "I want your names, both of you."

Vlad didn't stop, pushing through a crowd of girls who scowled and called abuse after them, and leading them both into the cold air. When he looked back he could see Mr. Branagh put a hand on Bryn's arm, obviously restraining.

They kept running, dodging pensioners and small children, only coming to a halt when they rounded a corner, certain they were out of sight. Robin leaned against the nearest shop front, panting heavily, unused to the physical exertion.

"What's going on, Vlad?"

"I'm not sure," Vlad answered, peering back in the direction they had just come, making sure they weren't being followed. He heard a sharp intake of breath then, and looked at Robin in concern. The other boy's face was ashen and Vlad followed his gaze to the newsstand, ice forming in the pit of his stomach.

Because that morning, he was fairly confident, it had _not_ been 1993.

**

* * *

**

"What are we going to do?"

Vlad pushed his hands into his pockets, unable to stave off the trembling in his fingers. He felt sick. They had gone back to the castle to find nothing but a derelict ruin, Robin helpfully telling him that its previous occupants hadn't started doing it up until he was in primary school.

He'd tried pinching the skin of his arm and, when that failed, raking his fingernails down it as viciously as he could. It hadn't made any difference. He hadn't woken up safe in his own bed. Robin had just raised an eyebrow and shook his head and told him they might as well make the most of it.

"Don't worry about it, Vlad," Robin told him, tone cheerful as they made their way back through the town centre. "It'll sort itself out, I expect. Aw, wow, I'd forgotten that used to be there."

Vlad looked up to see a computer games store where there _ought_ to be a mobile phone shop. Before Vlad could stop him Robin was pushing the door open, a bell jingling to acknowledge his entrance and he had no choice but to follow.

"Look at this, Vlad!" Robin exclaimed excitedly, gesturing towards the games display. He picked one of the oversized boxes eagerly, shoving it under Vlad's nose. "This was the first game I ever completed."

Vlad glanced at the title, '_Killer Vampires from Mars_'. It figured.

"Yeah, right," someone scoffed behind them. Vlad turned, seeing a boy about the same height as Robin. He had dark hair cut so it fell limply across either side of his forehead, half obscuring the acne underneath. "Whatever."

At his shoulder stood another boy wearing a crisp white T-shirt and pale blue jeans, greasy blond hair pushed back from his face, the ends flicking out where they were tucked behind his ears.

They were both staring at him and Robin like they'd just touched down from outer space.

Robin, never good at self preservation, drew himself up to his full height. "Are you calling me a liar?"

The dark haired boy looked him up and down, then smirked. "Yeah, I am. That game's only just come out. There's no way you could 'ave completed it."

"Well you're wrong then, aren't you?" Robin countered. "Nobody can play this game like I can."

"Wanna prove it?"

"I'll annihilate you."

"Alright then," the boy nudged his friend, grinning, "You're on."

**

* * *

**

"My name's Gethin by the way," the dark haired boy said by way of introduction as he led them down the steps towards the subway, "and this is Daz."

"Daz?" Robin asked, with a hint of a snicker.

"Short for Darren," Daz elaborated, seemingly oblivious to Robin's mockery. "What about you two then? I ain't seen you round here before."

"We're, er, visiting," Vlad told him hurriedly. This was such a terrible idea. He'd seen it once on television, before the Count had put his foot through it. You couldn't interact with people in the past, it messed everything up. Robin should know that better than anyone, he thought, with all the time he spent in front of the TV.

"I'm Robin," Robin said cheerily, just to make Vlad feel worse. "And this is Vlad. We go to the same school."

"Where's that then?" Gethin grinned. "1986? Seriously, _what_ are you wearing?"

Robin glanced down at his habitual head to toe black, and the clumpy boots Mrs. Branagh complained were ruining the kitchen lino. "The girls love it, don't they?"

Gethin looked pointedly back at Vlad, "Do they?"

Robin glared and Vlad couldn't keep the smile off his face as he shook his head. "Not at all."

Daz and Gethin laughed, even Robin's lips twitched, and the worried knot in his gut eased somewhat. Maybe everything would sort itself out. Maybe he was just dreaming, really deeply, and he'd wake up any moment to find Renfield leaning over him with his morning bowl of entrails. Maybe –

They turned into Robin's street and Gethin nodded at two women sat on the doorstep of the Branagh's house, toddlers playing at their feet, before flinging his arms wide at the house next door. "Here we are then, home sweet home!"

Robin gaped and Vlad fought the urge to faint. _Maybe_ this was the worst day of his entire life.

**

* * *

**

"Bit cold to be sat out here, ain't it Mrs. B?" Daz called, leaning on the fence.

"Just getting some fresh air," the older of the two women called back. She turned her attention to Gethin, "Your dad's gone out for a run with Graham, he'll be back soon so make sure your room's half tidy."

"Aw, what? We want to play on the megadrive," Gethin clapped Robin across the shoulder. "Lad here reckons he can beat me on _Killer Vampires from Mars_!"

Vlad watched as Mrs. Branagh, and it _was_ Mrs. Branagh, got to her feet awkwardly, very obviously pregnant. "I dread to think what they'll have when my three get to your age."

Gethin grinned and elbowed the front door open, gesturing for them to follow him.

Once inside Vlad caught hold of Robin's sleeve as the other two boys bounded up the stairs, pulling him close so he could pitch his voice for him alone.

"This is serious, Robin. We shouldn't be here. We've got to do something!"

"We've not even been born yet," Robin told him, tone awed. "This is incredible."

"You're not listening!" Vlad hissed, running one hand through his hair. He was scared. Really, _really_ scared. "We _have_ to do something. I'm going to be a vampire this time tomorrow!"

Vlad was horrified to feel the familiar sting of tears, the ache in his throat from the effort of keeping them back. If he were to turn here, who would stop him if he couldn't control it? Who would save Robin from becoming elevenses?

Robin's expression softened then, understanding finally falling across his features. He put his hands on Vlad's shoulders, leaning in and forcing Vlad to meet his gaze. "It's going to be alright, Vlad. I promise." Vlad opened his mouth to protest but Robin kept talking, "We're in the past, yeah?"

Vlad nodded reluctantly.

"Well, you can't get any older in the past, can you? You wished to never become a vampire. You won't here, will you? You'll just stay the same age as you are now."

Robin smiled encouragingly and Vlad frowned. His logic sounded far from foolproof.

"Look," Robin said, and Vlad noted the way his thumbs were rubbing small circles across his shoulders, "Whatever happens, I'll be with you. I'm not going to let anything bad happen. Trust me?"

His gaze was intense and Vlad struggled to do anything other than stare back at Robin, hyper aware of the other boy's hands upon him. Without any real conscious thought he leaned closer, close enough to smell the tang of Robin's shampoo under his liberally applied aftershave, close enough to –

"Oi!" Gethin called down the narrow stairwell. "Are you two coming or what?"

**

* * *

**

"Right then," Robin cracked his knuckles, holding his hand out for the pad, "let me show you losers how a real master plays."

Vlad watched curiously, at the cubed graphics and the way Robin twisted the pad in his hands, reacquainting himself with it. It was nothing like Call of Duty.

Two hours later he was still watching, for the lack of anything better to do. There was sweat forming across Robin's brow, his jaw set determinedly as he pummelled at the control pad.

"Impressive," Daz commented as the end of the level flashed across the screen. Robin swiped his sweat slick palms across his jeans, and Gethin worked out the kinks in his fingers. Vlad wondered how many more levels there could possibly be.

"You never could best my high score," Robin said confidently, and Vlad frowned. The repetitive music was clearly getting to his head.

"Boys," there was a knock at the door. "Can I come in?"

"What do you want, Mam?" Gethin called, pulling a face.

The woman Mrs. Branagh had been sat with earlier opened the door, a dark haired toddler squirming at her hip.

"How do you fancy earning some pocket money tonight? Only I need someone to babysit Dyfan."

Gethin scowled, "No way. We're going out."

"Sandra's party's tonight," Daz grinned by way of explanation and Gethin flushed red.

"What about your friends then?" She asked, eyeing up first Vlad, and then Robin. Her calculating gaze reminded Vlad of his own mother. She'd always been trying to palm him and Ingrid off on anyone who would have them. Gypsies, zombies, flesh eating ghouls. He glared at her and hoped it made her feel guilty.

"Nah," Gethin answered for them, "Except they'll be coming with us, won't you lads? Everyone's gonna be there."

"Well," his mum sighed, brushing her short hair back from her face, "so long as your father doesn't find out. You know what he gets like."

Gethin shook his head, turning back to the game and resuming play.

"Don't sweat it."

**

* * *

**

"Hey, mister! Get us a flagon, yeah? We got the money."

The man shook his head, glaring at them, before making his way into the off-licence. Vlad recognised him as the games teacher from the school they had played against at their last away match. His _last_ away match. He met Robin's gaze imploringly. Trying to get teachers to buy them drink – they were going to get into so much trouble.

Robin misread his expression and grinned widely. "Listen, boys, give Vlad the money and let him get it."

"You must be jesting!" Gethin exclaimed. "He looks the youngest of all of us!" Vlad bristled but the other boy went on, "He'll never get served. We'll 'ave the police round here and," he smirked, "they'll get one look at your get-up and that'll be that. We'll all be back home cleaning up baby sick."

Daz grimaced for emphasis.

"Trust me," Robin assured, "Nobody ever questions Vlad, not when he's got _that _look about him." Robin was smiling proudly at him and Vlad knew he was going to do it. No matter how stupid and illegal it was, he was going to walk in there and hypnotise the guy behind the counter into selling him alcohol. And he was going to do it for no other reason than the fact it would impress Robin.

He felt pathetic.

The others gave him the thumbs up through the shop window as he approached the till, nerves making his grip on the bottles slippy.

"Got any I.D.?" A bored looking man dressed in a tie dyed T-shirt asked him. "No I.D., no booze. That's the way it works."

"Yes," Vlad squeaked, quickly clearing his throat. "I mean, yes, yes I have." He stared at the man as he said it, feeling the power flow through him in waves as his eyes went glassy.

"Yes, yes, you have."

Vlad clapped the money down on the counter and left without looking back, heart pounding as he stumbled back into the cool evening air.

"You did it!" Daz sounded surprised.

"Of course he did it," Robin said, sliding one arm around Vlad's shoulders. "I told you he would." Robin smiled at him and Vlad let himself press closer to Robin's side. "This is better than mitching," Robin whispered in his ear as Gethin took the bag from Vlad's fingers, "now you get to act like a hellraiser before, well, you become a hellraiser."

Vlad didn't know if it was the reminder, or Robin's warm breath on his skin, or simply the cold, but the words made him shiver.

**

* * *

**

By the time they reached Sandra's house the bottles were empty. Robin was leaning heavily against him, face flushed. Vlad couldn't help but giggle every time Robin stumbled and wrapped his own arm around Robin's middle.

A pretty red haired girl answered the door, sweeping her gaze across their group and smiling when it landed on Gethin. "Alright boys? Come in."

The music was very loud, and Vlad didn't recognise it. Robin seemed to though, sniggering happily, taking more drink from the kitchen dropping down into the first vacant seat they came across and pulling Vlad with him.

"Can't believe it," Robin told him, gesturing towards where Gethin and the redhead were swapping spit. "She's actually quite fit. You wouldn't think it now." His brow furrowed for a moment in consideration. "Then. You know what I mean." Robin collapsed into laughter and Vlad leaned closer to yell in his ear,

"I don't!"

"That's Gethin!" Robin told his as if that should explain everything. "You know, Gethin. Here," Robin handed him the bottle, "Drink some of this."

"I don't think I should." Vlad said, but took it anyway. He felt warm and contented, squeezed so close to Robin he was almost in his lap. He tilted the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow, moving to rest his head against Robin's shoulder.

"That's it, Vlad," Robin encouraged. "Live a little. What's the worst that could happen?"

**

* * *

**

"Come on, son, what's the worst that could happen? Let's 'ave your name."

Vlad looked towards the door helplessly. He supposed the policeman was right. It really couldn't get much worse. Neighbours must have complained about the noise, he supposed. With no parents on hand to come pick them up, they'd been taken to the police station.

He wished his head were clearer.

"Your name?" the constable pressed stubbornly.

The mousey woman who had been assigned as his suitable adult touched a gentle hand to his arm, "You 'ave to tell them, love."

Vlad looked down at the table, biting at his lip. Honesty was the best policy, wasn't it? That's what they said at school. But, right now, he wasn't at school.

The door crashed open and Vlad felt his stomach sink still lower. It was the man who had been with Robin's dad, the one Robin had insulted. Except now he was dressed in a sergeant's uniform and glowering at him like he was something nasty he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

"You again," Bryn said, exhaling harshly through his nose. "I'll take over here, constable."

The policeman nodded, getting up from behind the desk and standing against the wall obediently.

"I've had just about as much nonsense today as I'm going to take," Bryn told him, sitting down opposite him, expression threatening. "Now, tell me your name."

Vlad nodded tightly to himself, mind made up. "Vladimir Dracula. Sir."

Bryn's fist clenched at his side, face turning an alarming shade of red. "Don't mess me about, son. I know your sort," he jabbed a finger at Vlad, "hoodlums, you are. Running wild, no respect for your elders, no respect for yourself! I blame the parents – "

There was a knock at the door and Bryn yelled tersely, "Come!"

"Sir," the female constable started, looking nervous as she leaned down to speak in hushed tones. If Vlad weren't a vampire, he wouldn't have been able to hear her.

"Your son is in custody."

**

* * *

**

Ten minutes later the same woman came back for him, leading him through the corridor to meet Robin and Gethin; Daz's parents had already taken him home. They hadn't done anything wrong, the police said, so they couldn't hold them. Vlad felt inordinately relieved they didn't know about his earlier stint at the off licence.

"I've rang my mam," Robin told him by way of greeting, the words slow and slurred, testament to how much more than him he had drunk. "She's going to come an' get us."

"You've what!" Vlad hissed, suddenly fearful. "But you can't have!"

"Everything alright here, lads?" The constable who had been conducting his interview asked. Vlad forced a tight smile.

"Fine, thank you."

"My mam's coming for us," Robin told him, leaning heavily against Vlad.

"And what about your mam?" The constable asked Vlad pointedly. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, Sir." Vlad said truthfully. "She left my dad and now I don't see her."

The constable shifted uncomfortably. "Right, ah, well, don't let me see you in here again, alright?"

Vlad didn't get chance to answer.

**

* * *

**

"Thanks for this, Elizabeth," Bryn said, red faced on the steps of the station, "I don't know what came over him."

Mrs. Branagh shot Gethin an understanding smile before schooling her face into a serious expression. "We all have our moments, Bryn."

"Hmm."

Bryn didn't sound convinced.

"Come on then," Mrs. Branagh said, jangling her car keys. "You're lucky Graham was back or you'd have had to have waited until your dad finished his shift." She smiled, "I must say, you've got some cheek Gethin Branagh, ringing me instead of your mam."

"I didn't ring –"

Vlad sucked in a sharp breath, tapping Gethin on the shoulder and shaking his head before the other boy could give them away. Thankfully he didn't even protest. Gethin clambered into the car and Vlad wondered why he hadn't realised sooner. He'd seen the boy's picture hundreds of times before, all of them actually, lining the Branagh's walls.

Robin had always said he'd get to meet the rest of his family. This just hadn't been the way in which he'd envisaged it.

Mrs. Branagh dropped Gethin off first, jovially telling him he had to face the music. Then she twisted round in her seat, "Where can I drop you two trouble makers off then?"

Robin just squirmed closer to Vlad, head lolling against his shoulder. "I want to go home now, Vlad. I've had enough of it here."

Vlad was horribly aware of the way Mrs. Branagh was watching them and patted at Robin's hand awkwardly. "Erm, we can just walk from here, it's alright."

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Branagh admonished. "I can take you there."

"No," Vlad shook his head, "you can't."

Mrs. Branagh looked concerned, "Will your parents be very angry."

"I don't know," Vlad said after a moment's consideration. You could never tell with his dad. Realising he wasn't helping the cause he backtracked, "Don't worry about us, seriously. We'll just walk."

Mrs. Branagh turned the engine off, fixing him with the look that always made Vlad break down and tell her the truth about what Robin was up to, or if he'd really had anything for tea.

"Nobody can help you if you don't ask for it," she told him gently. "Tell me the truth." Vlad clenched his eyes shut, clinging hopelessly to Robin's arm for support. Mrs. Branagh went on, tone still soft, "Have you two run away? Is that what this is about?"

The relief was immediate. "Yeah," Vlad choked out, "yeah, that's right. We've run away."

* * *

And, so, twenty minutes later he found himself in Robin's bedroom. Except it wasn't Robin's bedroom, because Robin hadn't been born yet. There was a cot in pieces leant against the far wall, and a dresser with a tin of bright yellow paint, a paint roller and a bright pink bunny rabbit on top of it.

The single bed had blankets rather than a duvet and Robin had stripped down to his underwear and his T-shirt, one arm curled around him, head laid on Vlad's chest. Vlad wished he could ascribe the ache in his chest to the extra weight.

But he couldn't.

It was marrow deep, radiating outwards all through his body. Robin had no idea what he was doing to him, he was sure of it. How his body heat, the press of his long limbs against his own made his pulse race. How he wanted nothing more than to pull Robin still closer, to bring their mouths together and _show_ Robin the effect he had on him. Robin burrowed closer,

"Go to sleep, Vlad. We might be home when we wake up."

"I hope so," Vlad whispered, reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp.

"Or," Robin went on, yawning, "maybe it'll be like Groundhog Day an', tomorrow, we'll 'ave to do it all over again."

Vlad shook his head. Another day like this would kill him.

* * *

The next morning he woke up to find himself in Robin's arms. Nice as it was, it meant he wasn't at home. He kept still however, ignoring his dead arm, and the way Robin was dribbling onto his shirt. Robin was worth it.

Eventually Robin opened his eyes, squirming and wriggling and complaining that he was hungry.

They got dressed and Vlad washed his face, combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look respectable. Robin didn't bother. When they got downstairs they found Mr. and Mrs. Branagh huddled together in the living room, listening to Robin's iPod. Vlad strained his ears, just picking up the sound of heavy drums and screaming.

Mr. Branagh looked at his wife in disgust, "I still say you shouldn't have. It's _illegal_." Mrs. Branagh gave him a dark look but he went on obliviously, "I blame the parents, I really do."

Vlad bit back a smirk and Robin coughed to announce his presence.

Mr. Branagh dropped the equipment hastily, coughing to hide his embarrassment. Mrs. Branagh smiled at them. "I haven't seen one like that before, puts my new discman to shame!"

"Must have cost a fortune," Mr. Branagh added suspiciously.

Vlad plastered a false smile across his face. "That's Robin for you, loves gadgets, don't you?" There was no answer. He nudged Robin, not missing the way the other boy was looking around the room wistfully, "Don't you?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Totally."

"Breakfast!" Mrs. Branagh beamed, clapping her hands together and bustling from the room, encouraging the two of them to trail after them.

Vlad couldn't help but hear Mr. Branagh's murmured, 'totally, my eye', on the way out.

* * *

"What's that?" Vlad asked, eyeing up the plateful of unidentifiable meat Mrs. Branagh was setting down in front of her husband. He couldn't place the smell at all.

"They're Quorn," Mrs. Branagh said proudly. "Graham's given up meat."

Robin snickered, and Vlad remembered Mr. Branagh telling him once that Mrs. Branagh had been very militant about it all before Robin was born. Mr. Branagh looked sheepish and Vlad shot him a smile, he hoped it was saying 'I won't tell her you were eating a Big Mac yesterday' and not 'I'm an idiot'.

She then handed him and Robin plates full of what was very definitely bacon. He didn't miss Mr. Branagh's look of envy.

"So," Robin started, speaking around his food, "You're 'aving a baby?"

Vlad shook his head. Could Robin fish any more obviously? He'd be on about how he was sure the baby would be the most awesome being in the history of ever in a minute.

"Yes," Mrs. Branagh smiled, "a boy."

"Brother," Ian said, smearing a handful of pureed baby mush into his hair.

"That's right!" Mrs. Branagh congratulated, trying to get him to take the spoon instead.

Vlad smiled to himself, he was never going to be able to look at the twins in the same way again. If, the sobering thought assaulted him, they got back.

"You must be really pleased," Robin went on, preening. "'Ave you picked a name yet?"

"Well," Mrs. Branagh said, "we were all certain it was going to be a girl and I had my heart set on Robyn, with a 'y', didn't I Graham?"

Mr. Branagh 'hmmed' noncommittally.

Robin looked horrified. "Robin's not a girl's name!"

"It was going to be with a 'y'," Mr. Branagh reminded him. Mrs. Branagh nodded.

Vlad almost choked on his bacon.

* * *

"I remember this," Robin told him excitedly after breakfast, pointing at the television screen in the living room. Vlad tried to focus, the colours blurring across his vision. He swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly faint and shaky.

"Vlad?" Robin asked, but it sounded far away. "_Vlad!_"

He reached for Robin blindly, fingers scrabbling at air. And then everything went black.

* * *

"Oh, thank God!"

Vlad squinted; vision slowly clearing until he could make out Robin's concerned features.

"Are you alright? I thought you were dying!"

Pain thrummed in his head and Vlad grimaced, grateful for the brush of Robin's fingers against his own.

"I am."

"Serious?" Robin hissed, shifting closer. "Are you sure?"

Vlad clenched his fingernails into his palm, trying to distract his mind from the pain in his head and the frantic stuttering of his heart in his chest.

"I'm sure." He breathed deeply, carefully. "We need to get back, this is too dangerous."

Robin met his gaze, expression solemn. "Can you remember the spell you used?"

* * *

Vlad wasn't sure how much time had passed but, when he next awoke, there were cool fingers pushing his hair back from his fevered brow.

"Robin?" He croaked, forcing his eyes open.

"He's gone to fetch your dad," a woman's voice soothed. Vlad could just make out the blonde of Mrs. Branagh's hair. "You mustn't do this again," Mrs. Branagh chastised softly, "run away, I mean. Not when you need medication. I bet your dad is worried sick."

"Maybe," Vlad conceded weakly.

"Definitely," Mrs. Branagh said. "If anything happened to one of mine I don't know what I'd do."

"They're only babies," Vlad wheezed. He couldn't draw enough air into his lungs, no matter how hard he tried. They were giving up, he knew. He wasn't going to need them for much longer.

Mrs. Branagh's hand fluttered anxiously over his hair. "They'll be back soon, it's alright."

Vlad tried to nod, tried to fight down the rising fear. Mrs. Branagh took his hand and he squeezed back gratefully.

"Look," Mrs. Branagh said hesitantly, as if she'd been mulling the words over for some time and still didn't know if they would be welcome. "I know it's none of my business, but you do love him, don't you?"

"Robin?" Vlad asked, coughing with the effort. He couldn't tell her. He _couldn't_. She was Robin's mum.

Mrs. Branagh smiled, "And he loves you, anyone can see that." At the shocked look on Vlad's face she went on, "There's nothing wrong with it, it's just that you're both so young."

Vlad looked away. You were as old as you felt, that was what his dad always said. In that case he was about a thousand.

"I'm sure your dad will come to understand, if the two of you show him how mature you can be."

There was the sound of the front door opening and closing, and footsteps lumbering up the stairs.

"Promise me you'll try to make it work at home, at least."

Robin burst through the door, short of breath and cheeks flushed, and Vlad glanced between him and Mrs. Branagh.

"I promise."

* * *

"Vlad," Robin panted, "you're going to 'ave to try harder to walk. I can't carry you. Not uphill!"

Vlad grimaced. He _was_ trying! The pain in his chest was awful, competing with the rhythmic pounding against his skull.

"Come on," Robin urged, "we're nearly there. We 'ave to get back so you can gloat about this. Stealing, drinking, a night in a police cell. Ingrid won't 'ave anything on you, Vlad."

Vlad smiled in spite of himself and forced one foot in front of the other, Robin still supporting most of his weight. When they finally reached the castle he let for forehead rest against the cold stone, chest heaving.

Robin tugged at his arm and made him sit on the floor. "You've got to say the right words, Vlad," he told him anxiously. "If this goes wrong we could both end up dead. _Dead_ dead."

"I know," he managed, letting Robin light the tea lights – where he'd gotten them, he had no idea – and then taking hold of both his hands, reciting the words as clearly as he could, what with his lungs expiring on him.

There was a lurching, nothing like the first time he'd said it, and he could do nothing but cling tighter to Robin.

It felt never ending, off kilter and sickening. And then the ground beneath him was solid once more.

"Vlad?" Robin murmured in his ear.

"Vlad?" Someone else asked behind him.

Finally, his dad's voice bellowed around the room. "Vladimir!"

And, then, there was blissful silence.

* * *

"Come on, bat breath, I've got things to do."

"Ingrid!" The Count snapped.

"Vlad, are you dead yet?"

"Branagh, don't you have somewhere else to be. The bottom of a ditch perhaps?"

"_Ingrid_," Vlad attempted, awareness flooding through him. He raised a hand to his mouth to feel fangs, and when he touched the pads of his fingers to the inside of his wrist there was no pulse.

"Your reflection's waiting," the Count told him, over Ingrid's shoulder. "I've 400 peasant pounds riding on this with your Uncle Ivan!"

"I know you can do it, Vlad," Robin assured. "You 'ave to. I'd look well cool with fangs."

"And _if_ you get out intact," Ingrid smiled - too sweetly - at him, leading him down towards the blood mirror room, "don't think I've not noticed where my expensive banshee blood went."

They were in front of the entrance now, the guards stepping clear. Vlad turned back to look at his dad and Robin, encouraging grin plastered across the latter's face, and sighed.

He should have worked it out sooner. There was no such thing as choice in his life.

Unlife.

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Robin wouldn't be home yet, Vlad knew. But he had to get out of the castle, out of the crypt and away from his dad's accusing glare. As he had told him again just that morning, he was being completely unfair. He reeked of black magic and he wouldn't share the story.

It wasn't that he was trying to keep it a secret – Ingrid had worked it out in minutes. – he just didn't want to talk about it yet. At least not until he'd spoken about it with Robin. It had been a whole week since he'd last seen him, and the times before that he had been either half passed out or unable to focus on anything but how desperately he wanted to sink his fangs into Robin's jugular.

He thought of the concern on Robin's face when he had been ill, and the way his hand had felt curled in his own. Of the ache that lingered still in his chest and how glad he was that his reflection hadn't bested him, that the way he felt about Robin hadn't changed.

So, here he was, stood on the Branagh's doorstep staring up at the darkened mid afternoon sky. He had no idea what he'd do in summer when he'd be stuck indoors for hours and hours at a time. He supposed he'd be busy soon, with Council and ruling and being a vampire.

The thought made him feel vaguely ill.

Mrs. Branagh answered the door, eyes wide as she took in his deathly pale complexion. "He's not home yet," she confirmed, "but you can wait in his room. He'll be so happy to see you."

Vlad smiled, hoping it was true – hoped it would still be true later that evening after he'd spilled his guts to Robin - forcibly keeping his gaze on Mrs. Branagh's face rather than her neck. He had a foot on the stairs when the sound of his name had him turning around.

Mrs. Branagh met his gaze calmly, smile still in place, "You are going to tell him, Vlad, aren't you? I haven't forgotten."

Vlad frowned in confusion and Mrs. Branagh shook her head and made her way into the kitchen.

"You promised me."


	96. Chapter 96

**_This was for the 36_stratagems fest. I got prompt #36 ~ If everything else fails, retreat. If it becomes obvious that your current course of action will lead to defeat, then retreat and regroup. When your side is losing, there are only three choices remaining: surrender, compromise, or escape. Surrender is complete defeat, compromise is half defeat, but escape is not defeat. As long as you are not defeated, you still have a chance. _**

* * *

They hadn't been back in Stokely ten minutes when Robin was at the door. Vlad grinned widely and let him in, ignoring the weight of Ingrid's knowing gaze as he led him to the staircase.

"How was Transylvania then?" Robin asked as soon as they reached Vlad's bedroom, dropping down onto Vlad's bed as if he owned the place. Vlad just smiled and perched next to him, wondering how inappropriate it would be if he were to wrap his arms round Robin's neck and tell him how much he'd missed him.

Considerably, he imagined.

"It was alright," he said instead, "boring."

"Come off it," Robin admonished. "I bet it was _awesome_. All those vampires bowing down to you an' that."

Vlad shrugged. It had been kind of cool. Especially when Granny Westenra had had to kneel, fangs grinding with barely concealed fury, and kiss his feet. He could get used to that kind of power. Still, determined to change the subject he asked, "Tell me what you've been doing. Did you go on that camping trip?" Mr. Branagh had been planning it gleefully when he'd left for the summer.

Robin rolled his eyes and sank back against Vlad's pillows dramatically. "Didn't I just! It was horrible." He wrinkled his nose, "Even worse than last year. And I didn't think that was possible."

It was selfish, but the news heartened Vlad. He didn't think he much liked the idea of Robin having a good time when he wasn't there with him. He'd spent long days staring at the underside of his coffin lid hoping Robin wasn't forgetting about him, wouldn't find someone new to spend all his time with.

"There was one good thing about it though," Robin said, breaking through his reverie. Vlad turned to look at him curiously, stomach crawling at the sight of the dopey smile Robin usually reserved for talking about Ingrid. Robin's expression turned uncharacteristically shy, and he didn't meet Vlad's eyes as he handed his mobile phone over, the screen full of a photograph,

"What do you think?"

* * *

"Vlad?" Robin asked nervously when he didn't reply immediately.

He tried to force himself to speak but his voice refused to cooperate. He had to settle for nodding vigorously, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. The Robin in the picture looked happy – really happy – sunburnt across the bridge of his nose, arm looped around the waist of the figure pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"His name's Aled," Robin said quietly. "I think you'd like him."

Vlad wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact Robin had managed to _replace_ him, or the way he was staring at him, pale and anxious, waiting for Vlad's approval. He forced his face into a brittle smile. "He seems nice."

He cringed even as the words left his mouth, what a stupid thing to say! But Robin just smiled in relief, taking his phone back and gazing at it dopily for a moment before putting it back in his pocket,

"You can meet him when he comes down on the weekend."

Vlad very deliberately avoided meeting Robin's eyes,

"Great."

**

* * *

**

The weekend dawned grey and miserable, the weather readying itself for the beginning of the school year. Vlad scuffed the toe of his trainers into the ground, and tried not to let the sickening jealousy overwhelm him as he and Robin waited at Stokely train station. What could this boy possibly have that he didn't? He'd bet good money he didn't have fangs, for starters.

Robin couldn't keep still next to him, glancing at the arrivals screen roughly every thirty seconds, as if they wouldn't _see_ the train if it were coming.

"He's in a band," Robin told him for the fourth time that morning. "And we like all the same horror films."

Vlad opened his mouth to protest as the train finally appeared – he'd sat through films which had given him nightmare for weeks for Robin – but Robin cut him off, gripping at his arm excitedly,

"There he is!"

* * *

Vlad had wanted to hate Aled, and he found he didn't even have to try, it just came naturally. He hated the way Robin's face lit up when he saw him, and he hated the way Aled kissed Robin in front of everyone, clearly not caring what anyone else thought about it, the way Vlad knew he himself wouldn't be able to.

He hated the way Aled shook his hand and acted thoroughly decently, Vlad trailing around awkwardly like a third wheel. He hated the way Mrs. Branagh treated Aled like a fourth son, the way she'd always treated _him_, and he hated the way Aled didn't have to be home by 6 O'clock to answer a stack of angry letters demanding he lift the ban on peasant baiting, and repeal the rights of Half Fangs to sit on Council.

Over the next few weeks he only came to hate Aled more. For the way Robin preferred to spend his nights on MSN, and his lunchtimes with his mobile phone glued to his ear.

At first Vlad tried to fight back, pretending he needed help to sift through the boxes of potentially dangerous vampire artefacts in the spare crypt. He let Robin prod a finger at his lengthening fangs, and even forged a note for rugby practice so he could sit with Robin without taking backseat to Aled's phone conversation for once.

None of it made any difference, and Vlad contemplated just giving up. Accepting that he'd left it too late and trying to move on. He was so certain it wouldn't work he ruled it out immediately. Instead he poured through the advice columns in Ingrid's cast off copies of Gothmopolitan, wondering, just for a moment, if there were any chance he could get away with driving a stake through Aled's heart and UV handcuffing Robin to the nearest piece of (suitable) furniture.

It was unlikely, at best.

Eventually he took the only course of action he could. Wait for Aled to mess up.

**

* * *

**

By the Christmas holidays the situation was looking bleak. Ian had been through four girlfriends, and Robin was still waxing lyrical about Aled's eyes every chance he got. Ingrid hissed in his ear that he should just hypnotise Aled into dumping Robin, and he spent the entire night tangled tight in his new shroud, feeling sick with guilt for actually contemplating going through with it.

He was so convinced that his rival was never going to put a foot wrong that, when Robin turned up at bedroom door, eyes red and face blotchy, Vlad could hardly credit it. Robin didn't say a word about it, sprawled across Vlad's coverlet and made them watch some stupid film about vampiresses luring hapless slayers to their lair. Vlad pretended not to notice the way Robin kept swiping at his cheeks and, when it was finished, he suggested Robin ring Mrs. Branagh and stay the night.

It was the end of the week before he couldn't take the uncertainty any longer; the lights on the Branaghs' Christmas tree twinkling prettily as they sat together on the sofa, almost – but not quite – close enough for their thighs to touch.

"Are you seeing Aled at all?" Vlad asked as casually as he could, resisting the urge to redirect his gaze from the television screen to Robin's face. "Before we go back to school, I mean." His heart was thudding painfully in his chest, and he flexed the fingers of his right hand rhythmically, the one which had Robin's hand within touching distance, trying not to get his hopes up too much.

"I'm never seeing him again," Robin said eventually, tone dark. "He's an idiot."

Vlad swallowed, not knowing what to do. What to say. How to make it better, and how to make Robin fancy him instead, all at the same time. He was glad they were the only ones in, that the twins wouldn't burst in on this.

"You know-" He cleared his throat and started again, impulsively touching his hand to Robin's, just the press of his fingertips against Robin's warm skin, "You know you can talk to me about it, don't you? If –" Robin met his gaze, dark eyes over bright, and Vlad faltered, "if you want to."

The silence stretched, one beat, two, three. And, then, Robin squeezed his hand, just for a moment, and smiled, "Thanks, Vlad. You're the best." Robin removed his hand, and turned his attention back to the television, ending the conversation. But, after reaching for the remote, he squirmed back against the cushions, until the gap between them was closed and the heat of Robin's thigh soaked through two layers of denim.

Vlad finally relaxed. They'd get there, he was sure of it.

In the meantime, he slouched back further, so their shoulders were touching too, he could wait.


	97. Chapter 97

"Check it out," Ian nodded, grinning at his brother. Paul followed his cue and turned around obediently, gesturing widely with his arms to point at the printed back of his own T-shirt.

"Lock up your daughters," Ian smirked, waving a hand in the direction of his own T-shirt, lying on the kitchen table, "the Branagh boys are on their way."

Robin rolled his eyes and shared a knowing look with Vlad; with Gary Price and Ryan Haskell in tow, so they had spent many lunchtimes over the last few weeks sniggering in discussion, their chances were practically nil. Not that they'd have been high in the first place.

"You do realise," Chloe said calmly, gracing them with a single disdainful look before turning her attention back to her book, "that is not how you spell Faliraki?"

"Wha?" Paul asked, frantically trying to twist his neck enough to see his own back.

Chloe shook her head, "It has one 'k'. And," she raised an eyebrow, "no 'h'."

"It don't matter, bruv," Ian reassured, "they don't speak English anyway."

Paul processed this for a moment then nodded, seemingly satisfied, and slid into his seat at the dinner table. Chloe grimaced, as if the proximity of such a display of stupidity pained her. Vlad settled for smirking into his casserole.

"Ah, yes," Paul beamed, rubbing his hands together in glee, "We'll be sunning it up on the beach, and what will you be doing?" He looked at Chloe, "Slaving away at geek camp."

Ian nudged his brother in approval of his terminology.

"It's not a 'geek' camp," Chloe said darkly, "It's a maths camp. For gifted mathematicians."

"Yeah," Robin grinned, "geeks." Chloe kicked his leg under the table in retaliation, forcing him to clutch at his shin.

"Boys," Mrs. Branagh said in a tone harsher than Vlad had ever heard her use before, "Leave your sister alone. There's a lot of competition to get a place, you should be proud of her."

The twins looked contrite and, Vlad could see from his vantage point, even Robin flushed slightly at the telling off. Mr. Branagh, uncharacteristically subdued, Vlad thought, pushed his plate – only half empty – away. Vlad wondered if the man might be ill.

"Are you still going to come to your Nana's with us for the week, Robin?" Mrs. Branagh asked, back to her usual friendly tone.

"Aw, yeah," Robin nodded enthusiastically, swallowing his mouthful of food quickly. "Vlad," he turned to him excitedly, placing a hand on his arm, "I forgot to ask. Do you want to come with us? You'll love my Nan, she's awesome!" He gestured at the rest of his family, lowering his voice to a whisper as conversation carried on around them – Mr. Branagh asking the twins if they were planning to visit historic Rhodes while they were away. From the blank looks on their faces, Vlad guessed not.

"She's not like _them_," Robin assured, wrinkling his nose, "normal. Me and my Nan are the only cool people in this family." He went on, "She knows all about vampires and aliens and ghosts and _everything_."

Chloe, taking in the way what little colour there was drained from Vlad's face, sighed, "What he means is, when we were little, she liked to make up stories to keep Robin happy."

"They're not made up!" Robin protested. "Mam, tell her!"

"I'm sure your Nana believes in them," Mrs. Branagh said, placating neither of them.

"Right, well," Robin stabbed at his dinner viciously, "when you're there you can judge for yourself." He paused, tone softening, "You are going to come, aren't you Vlad?"

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," Mr. Branagh said.

"You'll have to share a room," Mrs. Branagh warned.

Vlad nodded at Robin, trying not to make it obvious that Mrs. Branagh's last statement had just been very welcome icing on top of an offer he'd_never_ turn down. Lately he felt like he'd happily spend all day – every day - glued to Robin's side, just revelling in the other boy's company.

"Wicked!" Robin exclaimed. Vlad smiled back shyly at him.

Mr. Branagh chose that moment to push away from the table, the movement overly harsh and abrupt. "Vlad," He cleared his throat, "You will get permission from your father, won't you?" He didn't wait for Vlad's answer before leaving the room. Vlad looked at Robin for an explanation but he merely shrugged and went back to his food.

_Weird_, Vlad thought absently, and set about following Robin's example.

* * *

"Absolutely not," the Count drawled languidly from his throne. Ignoring Vlad's scowl he went on, "You have your own grandparents; Granny Dracula hasn't seen you since you were so high." The Count held his hand two foot from the ground.

"You didn't tell me you went to see Granny last week, Vlad," Ingrid said in mock hurt.

Vlad pulled a face at her, "Ingrid, you're as hilarious as ever." Still, he sat up a little straighter in his seat. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to get taller. "Granny Dracula," he said in a self-righteous voice, "lives in Transylvania." What was he supposed to do? Nip round for tea and entrails?

"Exactly," the Count said enthusiastically. "Where better for a vampire your age to be learning his craft? Straight from the vampire's fangs."

"I could go and see Granny Dracula," Ingrid suggested, the magazine in her grip suddenly forgotten.

The Count shook his head in amusement, "Don't be ridiculous, Ingrid! She wants to see Vlad. Her _favourite_ grandchild." Ingrid's resultant scowl was so vicious it had Vlad shrinking back into his chair.

"You know he only wants to go with them so he can perv on Branagh while he's undressing." Ingrid said bitterly. Vlad felt himself blush,

"No, I don't! What would you know about it anyway?"

"More than I want to," Ingrid sneered back. "You really should invest in a lock for that diary, Vlad."

"Really?" The Count asked in sudden interest.

"No!" Vlad protested, again. "We're just friends."

"Even Branagh's got _some_ taste," Ingrid sneered.

"Look, if you let me go I'll-" Vlad floundered for a moment, looking about the room for inspiration, his gaze fell on Ingrid's coffin polish, "I'll spend a whole week sleeping in the crypt." He nodded, pleased with himself. Robin would probably want to stay round all week too; it would be worth it for that.

"You're not going to let him go for that, are you?" Ingrid said incredulously.

The Count was already up and clapping a hand round Vlad's shoulder, "I knew this day would come, Vladimir." He sniffed, "My son, a true vampire."

Ingrid's sneer said it all.

* * *

"They'll be on the plane now," Mrs. Branagh said from the front of the van, glancing anxiously at her watch. Robin, who was out of her line of sight, grinned at Vlad,

"They'll be on _a_ plane. Whether or not it'll be the right one is anyone's guess."

Vlad snorted softly in amusement and squirmed into a more comfortable position, watching fields full of sheep through the van window. Next to him Chloe was fidgeting with the straps of her backpack.

"You don't 'ave to go on geek camp if you don't want to," Robin said. Vlad smiled at his attempt at acting like a concerned big brother, if the look on Chloe's face was anything to go by it still needed serious refinement. "It'll be full of weirdoes."

"What," Chloe asked, one eyebrow raised, "like you?"

"I'm not a weirdo," Robin scowled. "I'm an eccentric."

"Here we are," Mr. Branagh called before the argument could escalate any further. Chloe shot Robin one last withering look before gathering up her bags.

"Vlad," Chloe said pointedly, "say Hi to Nana for me. And don't let Robin annoy her too much, she's not well." Vlad, not knowing what else to do, nodded mutely and avoided Robin's sulky glare as she clambered out of the van. This was not the brilliant start he'd envisaged.

**xXx**

"Ooh, it sounds lovely," Mrs. Branagh chirped down the telephone. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to face Nana Branagh's artful sofa arrangement, "It sounds lovely."

"Are they wearing sun cream?" Mr. Branagh asked seriously.

Mrs. Branagh put the phone back to her ear, "Dad wants to know if you're all wearing sun cream?" There was a pause before she repeated the process, nodding, "They're wearing sun cream."

Robin rolled his eyes impatiently and cut over the top of the conversation, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Branagh to it. "Anyway, Nan, as I was_trying_ to say, this is my friend, Vlad." He gestured at him, grinning, "From _Transylvania_."

Vlad got up, Chloe's earlier warning about her grandmother's health ringing in his ears, to shake her hand. She smiled at him – nothing like the toothy sneer Granny Westenra favoured him with on her annual visits – and he couldn't help but notice that she and Robin had the same mischievous twinkle in their dark brown eyes.

"I've heard a lot about you, Vlad," she took his hand and inspected it closely, looking for what Vlad couldn't say; "Robin's always talking about you."

Vlad blushed; inwardly thrilled that he was Robin's favourite topic of conversation. When their gaze met Robin shrugged slightly, obviously embarrassed. Vlad beamed all the more for it.

"So," Robin asked, clearing his throat, "what does it say?"

Nana Branagh traced a work worn finger across the palm of his hand and Vlad frowned in confusion. "Long life, but we knew that," she flashed Robin a smile. "So many tough choices but," she met Vlad's gaze again, "you should trust your instincts, sweetheart." She trailed another of the shallow grooves, "You have the chance to be very happy." Vlad stared back at her, suddenly fearful of what she might be able to tell. The open sincerity in her eyes reassured him; whatever she knew, she wasn't going to use it against him.

If she had more to tell him he'd never know because Mr. Branagh chose that moment to interrupt. "Mam!" He scolded, shooing Vlad back over to Robin with a friendly hand and handing her a cup of tea. "You know you shouldn't encourage the children with all this mumbo-jumbo." He gave Robin a pointed look, "Especially those who don't need any encouragement."

"Graham," she said fondly, giving the boys one last conspiratory look, "Don't _fuss_."

Robin nudged him softly and whispered in his ear, grinning all over his face,

"What did I tell you? _Awesome."_

* * *

The following morning Vlad was shocked to see Robin's bed empty when he woke up. Regular sleepovers had taught him that Robin didn't like to see any time before 2pm unless it was absolutely necessary. 8:30am on a non-school day was the sign of something exceptional. Slightly unnerved Vlad got dressed quickly, combing his hair in the mirror above the old fashioned dressing table.

Quietly, he slid out onto the landing, toothbrush in one hand. He could hear movement in the kitchen downstairs, the soft strain of a radio and Mrs. Branagh's singing. He had seen Mr. Branagh in the garden through the bedroom window. He didn't mean to eavesdrop on purpose, had just paused a moment outside Nana Branagh's ajar door, straining his ears with the aim of finding out if that's where Robin was. Nothing more.

Once there however, he found he couldn't tear himself away. Through the gap he could see Nana Branagh propped up against her deluge of pillows, chintzy floral bedspread and matching curtains, contrasting utterly with Robin's head to toe black. Vlad smiled, half amused and half transfixed with the happy smile across Robin's face and the way the morning light made his skin look an almost healthy tone, when diffused through the layers of net and cotton.

He'd had every intention of moving then, of going downstairs, or back to their room to wait, yet he'd stayed still.

"I'll be fine, Robin bach. This is what it's like when you get old, can't be up gallivanting all the time. Your Dad wanted to stop the twins going on holiday! Chloe from going on her camp! It's a lot of fuss about nothing."

"Mam said you should be in the hospital." Robin said quietly, smile slipping. "I heard her talking about it with Dad." He shifted restlessly, "Chloe doesn't know. Nor the twins."

"Hospital!" Nana Branagh looked affronted at the very idea. "I can't be doing with them. Full of old biddies talking about knitting and_Countdown_. Terrible places."

Robin grinned toothily.

"Anyway, that's enough about me. I want to hear what progress you've made. Are you courting yet?"

"_Nan_," Robin squirmed, blushing, "it's not called 'courting'. And," he fidgeted, "no, not yet. I can't just go and ask, 'Do you want to go out with me?' Can I?"

"Why not?" Nana Branagh asked indignantly, "That's not the Robin I know." Her tone softened, "What do I keep telling you? They'd be mad to turn you down."

"Yeah, I know." Robin sighed, "It's just that nobody else shares your point of view. Especially not the person I really want to." He shrugged helplessly, "Love sucks."

The sound of footsteps came from the bottom of the staircase and Vlad went back to the room he was sharing with Robin in quick, clumsy movements, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated care and resting his forehead against it. He clenched his eyes shut against the sting of tears and told himself he should have expected it. Should have prepared himself for it.

Robin had fallen for someone. And that someone wasn't him.

* * *

Dinner that evening was awkward. Mr. Branagh hid his face in the newspaper and didn't say a word. Mrs. Branagh kept up a stream of chatter but it sounded forced to Vlad's ears. Then again, he reasoned, it was probably just his own mood inflecting what he was hearing. Every time he looked up to see Robin staring at him he had to fight against another wave of misery. He pushed his food around his plate and was glad when Mrs. Branagh suggested they might be tired and like to go to bed.

Alone in their room Robin had watched him with questioning eyes as he got ready for bed, making him feel even more of an idiot, bringing to mind as it did Ingrid's cutting words on his reason for accompanying Robin in the first place. Just when he had begun to think that they were going to go to sleep without saying a single word, Robin finally broke the silence,

"I saw an alien from here, once."

Vlad frowned up at the ceiling. "An alien? When was this?"

"Before you came to Stokely," Robin's voice sounded solemn in the darkened room, "Nobody believed me. Except for Nan." There was another pause and Vlad waited, certain from his tone that Robin was going somewhere with this. "I used to come round here all the time." There was rustling, the sound of fidgeting as Robin turned onto his side, "I never had any friends before you."

Robin had told him as much before, more than once, but not for years. Not since before he had first worn the Crown and Vlad hadn't realised the other boy still felt so strongly about it. He'd give anything to have been friends with Robin all his life.

"I," Robin went on, hesitantly, "don't know what I've done, Vlad but, whatever it is, I'm sorry. I hate it when you're not speaking to me."

"You haven't done anything," Vlad responded quietly, guilt twisting in his chest. It wasn't Robin's fault that he couldn't deal with what he'd overheard. He should never have been listening in the first place.

Silence descended again and Vlad searched for something to say to make Robin understand how sincere he was. Without giving away _why_. Eventually, when so much time had passed he wasn't even sure if Robin was still awake, he settled for a whispered,

"I never had any friends either. I'm glad. They couldn't have compared to you."

* * *

It rained for almost the entirety of the next day and, come mid-afternoon, Vlad found himself curled into an armchair next to Robin in Nana Branagh's room, watching "Dracula's Daughter". He conceded, if only to himself, that he'd been in stranger situations.

"_Some __man __is __in __there __with __a __stake __through __his __heart."_

"_You __know __anything __about __this?"_

"_Yes, __I __did __it."_

"Haha," Robin gestured at the television screen, "How have you not seen this, Vlad? It's awesome."

"I'm surprised you haven't shown him it already, Robin," Nana Branagh said, giving Vlad an understanding, knowing smile. Vlad grinned back.

"He gets scared," Robin answered distractedly, before clapping a hand on Vlad's shoulder and demanding enthusiastically, "Watch this bit now."

"_How __long __has __he __been __dead?" __The __detective __on __screen __asked, __notebook __ready._

"_About __500 __years."_

Robin fell about laughing. Vlad just rolled his eyes and let himself think about the fact he was practically in Robin's lap. He wished he could lay his head against Robin's shoulder but he got the impression that it would look irredeemably girly, as well as flouting his Dad's number one rule of being a vampire: self-preservation.

Before Robin could offer any more running commentary, Mrs. Branagh's voice rang up the stairs. "Robin! Come and fetch this tray."

"Aw," Robin shook his head, extracting himself from their cramped position. "You're lucky I love you," he directed at his Nan in a tone laced with mock suffering. She raised an eyebrow in response, an expression that reminded him so much of Robin, Vlad almost laughed out loud.

When Robin had left Vlad felt suddenly uncomfortable, an outsider once more. Nana Branagh seemed to sense it and filled the silence for him,

"It's lovely to meet you at last, Vlad. I wasn't lying the other night. From the moment you two met Robin hasn't been able to talk about anything else."

"All bad, I expect," Vlad responded, trying not to let on how much it meant to him. He met her gaze and was struck by the solemnity in her eyes,

"Robin always needed a friend like you. To be there for him." She went on, "Some time in the future, some time soon, he's going to ask you to do something, and - it won't be a decision anyone else can make. Just," Vlad felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, his heartbeat quicken in his chest, although the words made little sense to him, "trust in your instincts. You will make the right choice."

He wanted to ask her what she meant, to tell him more, but Robin was back, battering the paintwork with his loaded tray and complaining profusely about his mother's failure to buy any ginger snaps on her earlier shopping expedition. The weird intensity had gone and, by the time the film was back on and Robin was dropping biscuit crumbs all over his favourite sweater, Vlad couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't just imagined the entire scene.

* * *

"Chloe's enjoying maths camp," Mrs. Branagh told him over breakfast the following morning, Robin having gone back to his usual routine and sleeping the morning away.

Vlad nodded politely, "I bet." Chloe was cut out for that sort of thing. Curiously he glanced up at the collection of photographs lining the walls of Nana Branagh's dining room. He imagined the Branagh gene pool must be something special to have produced two sporting stars, a child prodigy and an artistic genius. He cocked his head to the side in consideration; an incredibly handsome artistic genius. That was more like it.

Mrs. Branagh followed his gaze to a black and white photograph of a man in old fashioned clothing. "That's Robin's granddad," she explained, "He was a lovely man. He died when Robin was a baby." Vlad looked at it with fresh eyes, he thought the man had Robin's nose. Underneath it there was a photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Branagh on their wedding day, Mrs. Branagh smiling shyly up into her new husband's eyes. Vlad smiled.

"How did you meet Robin's Dad?"

"Oh," Mrs. Branagh said in pleased surprise, "We went to school together." Vlad turned his attention to her eagerly; there was nothing he liked more than stories of schoolyard romances that went the distance. Mrs. Branagh smiled wistfully, "Graham was in the year above me, and so dashing." Vlad resisted the urge to laugh.

Sitting down opposite him, Mrs. Branagh went on, "I was a library monitor and, every Monday, I'd scour the register to see when his books were due back, and pick that day for my shift. And what do you think he'd do?" Vlad was silent, he had no idea. Mrs. Branagh shook her head in remembered frustration, "He'd bring them back late. Every time."

"So, he didn't know you liked him?" Vlad asked, thinking of Robin. Of the way he spent hours after hour with him every day, waiting desperately for some sign that Robin could like him back.

"Well," Mrs. Branagh gave him a motherly smile, "Not until Julie Hicks and I followed him all around the Stokely summer fete so I could tell him. Sometimes," her gaze turned knowing, "We have to be brave and take the first step ourselves."

"I don't think I'll ever be that brave," Vlad said sadly, staring down into his rapidly congealing cereal.

"Vlad," Mrs. Branagh started, putting a comforting hand on his forearm, "I'm sure –"

"Elizabeth!" Mr. Branagh burst through the door, eyes red rimmed and slightly wild, "Quickly."

She nodded solemnly and stood, releasing his arm,

"I'll ring the doctor."

* * *

Vlad followed upstairs cautiously, fitting the pieces together in his mind at double quick speed. He understood now why Mr. Branagh had tried to dissuade him from coming. He was glad he hadn't listened. Robin was going to be devastated.

When he reached the landing Mrs. Branagh was stood just outside Nana Branagh's bedroom door. She motioned him close, and Vlad could hear Robin's voice, thick with tears, coming from inside. "I'm so sorry. We should have told you." Mrs. Branagh said, close to tears herself, "We didn't think it would be quite so soon." Vlad shook his head,

"It's alright." He stood up straighter, "I want to be here for Robin."

Mrs. Branagh gave him a watery smile, "You're a good boy, Vlad."

At that moment the door opened and Robin pushed past them, Vlad catching a flash of his blotchy face, as he made for their room. Vlad shot Mrs. Branagh one last sympathetic smile and went after him.

"Robin," he called softly, gingerly sitting down on the edge of Robin's mattress. Robin was lying in his front, face buried in his arms, shoulders shaking. "Robin?" He put a tentative hand on Robin's back, the sight wrenching at his own heart. Robin's only response was to sob harder and Vlad could take it no longer. He tugged insistently at Robin's shoulder, encouraging him to sit up.

He did so, clinging to him instead, tears soaking through the thin material of Vlad's shirt. "She's g-g-g-going to d-d-die." Robin forced out eventually, and Vlad clutched him closer, one hand on his back, the other carding softly through his dark hair.

"I know, Robin. I know."

"But why?" Robin implored rhetorically, breaking down again. Vlad kept silent.

Robin's breathing was something approaching normal when he next tried to speak. Pulling away from his grasp, his eyes were bright; shining with unshed tears and something else that Vlad found himself wanting to shrink away from.

"_You_ can stop it though, can't you?" Robin asked, excitedly. "If you bite her, she won't die. If you bite someone, they _never_ have to die."

"Robin," Vlad said nervously, "You know I can't."

"Why can't you!" Robin demanded harshly. "You can, you just don't want to! You know you can, the Council have already confirmed it!" He swiped at his reddened eyes with his shirt sleeve in frustration. "You're supposed to be my best friend."

Vlad bit his lip, torn between wanting to stop Robin being upset, and what he knew – beyond all doubt – was the right thing to do.

"If you were telling the truth, if you really are my friend, you'd do this _for __me_."

Robin stared at him, accusing, and Vlad felt as if he couldn't breathe under the weight of the pressure upon him. If he didn't do it, would Robin ever forgive him? Would this be it, their friendship over? His only chance of something more gone, forever. Suddenly Nana Branagh's words of the previous day ran through his mind.

_"He'll ask you do something, and it won't be a decision anyone else can make. Just trust your instincts. You will make the right choice."_

Forcing himself to meet Robin's gaze, he swallowed around the lump in his throat,

"I can't."

* * *

Bright and clear, the summer sun shines down on the neat graveyard. Vlad thinks of how different it is to the reams of depictions of such scenes blu-tacked to Robin's bedroom walls. He wonders if Robin will hate such weather all the more for its new association. Vlad tries to offer him a solemn smile as the undertakers arrange him and his brothers – sun-burnt faces swollen with grief – around the coffin. Robin steadfastly avoids his gaze.

Once inside Vlad struggles to sit still, his skin crawling, ears hissing with voices in tongues he was not familiar with. The message is crystal all the same. He is not welcome. He is not clean. Vlad clenches his hands into fists, feet shifting restlessly, as Robin takes his seat beside him. He glances around the church during the hymn – his voice won't co-operate – averting his gaze from the religious imagery, cold sweat prickling his skin.

Chloe is sat on his other side, sobbing helplessly into her hands, Mr. Branagh's arm around her as he joins her. The twins have their heads bowed, silent tears streaking their cheeks. Mrs. Branagh has a handkerchief pressed tight to her eyes. Robin, stood apart as always, is sat ramrod straight, dry cheeked. But Vlad can hear his rhythmic swallowing; can see how hard he's fighting to keep it up.

Vlad clenches his eyes tight shut, claws at his leg with his fingernails, the air thick and stifling. Finally, he reaches for Robin's hand, clasping it tightly in his own. He isn't sure if it's for him, or for Robin but when the latter squeezes back gratefully he comes to the conclusion that it doesn't really matter.

He'd trusted his instincts.

He'd made the right decision.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"I couldn't have done this without you, Vlad. Any of it." Robin said, eyes soft and genuine as they sat together on Robin's unmade bed.

Vlad shrugged, unable to hold Robin's gaze, fidgeting with the length of his unknotted tie, "That's what friends are for."

"You're the best friend anyone could ever have," Robin assured. "I know how hard it was for you today, but you went anyway." He gave Vlad a lopsided smile, "For me."

"I was so scared," Vlad mumbled, voicing the emotions that had been ranging inside him, "I thought you would never forgive me." At Robin's look of confusion, he elaborated, "When I said no."

"Oh, Vlad," Robin breathed, face crumpling. Without thinking, Vlad touched his hand to Robin's cheek, fingertips sliding into his hair, thumb resting at the strong juncture of his jaw. He didn't think his heart could withstand seeing Robin cry again. Especially not over him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Vlad reassured; Robin had been apologising since almost the very moment he had first asked. "You were upset." Robin didn't pull away from his touch, if anything arched into it, and Vlad wished with everything he had that Robin could want something more from him. "Your Nan warned me. She said you would ask me for something. But if I trusted my instincts, I'd make the right choice."

Dark eyes met his own at that, tentative fingers reaching to touch the swell of his cheekbone. Robin bit at his lip "I d-don't think that's what she meant," he stammered. "She knew – I told –" Robin took a breath, so close Vlad was sure the other boy must be able to hear the rapid pounding of his heart, "I love you."

His fingers fell away from Vlad's cheek, his eyes downcast. He snorted quietly, "She always thought you would love me back." The sight of Robin so uncharacteristically lacking in confidence propelled Vlad into action.

"She was right," he let the fingers of his other hand trail up the side of Robin's neck and into his hair, "about that." He smiled at Robin, "About everything."

And, then, he took to heart the advice of yet another Branagh, summoning all his courage, and pressed his lips to Robin's. Knew it had been worthwhile when Robin's mouth moved against his own, Robin's hand curled around his hip. Vlad smiled into it and let Robin take control.

His first friend; his first love; his first kiss.

He couldn't have hoped for anyone better.


	98. Chapter 98

[Am reposting YD stuff under 10,000 words here from the main archive…]

_[A/N: Inspired by a plot bunny by Lintis over at the Vlad/Robin LJ community (Lovebitesvr for all of those who want to go check it out now...) - Quote:Robin wants Vlad to bite him in the vampire-way (he keeps nagging Vlad about it) and Vlad is feeling mischievous so he'll give Robin what he wants, though not exactly.  
Cloe: "Robin, what's that on your neck?"  
Robin: "It's a vampire bite, cool, huh?"  
Cloe: "I'd call that a lovebite. A hickey."  
Robin: "WHAT?" *deep blush*  
or something like that...]_

"What is _that_?"

"What?" Robin squirmed away as Chloe leaned closer, "Geroff me!"

"It's a hickey!"

Robin felt a flush spreading across his face.

"Mum! Robin's got a hickey!"

"I have not!" Robin glared at her and hissed, "It's a vampire bite. Vlad did it." He broke into a grin, "Awesome, huh?"

Mrs. Branaugh appeared in the doorway before Chloe could reply.

"What's that Chloe? I'm in the middle of a soufflé."

"Robin has a hickey. Why can't _I_ have a boyfriend?"

"Robin." His mother's tone was scolding. "You're far too young for that sort of thing."

"Mam, I'm _fifteen_." He shook his head, "I don't know why I'm even arguing. It's _not_ a hickey."

"No, he thinks it's a vampire bite." Chloe folded her arms and scowled nastily at him. Robin resisted the urge to thump her.

"Oh Robin! Is that all you ever think of!" Mrs. Branaugh shook her head in obvious exasperation and turned to leave. "And Robin," he looked up at her, "Try and set a better example for your sister."

"It _is_ a vampire bite!" Robin protested as soon as their mother was back in the kitchen, sounding just the right side of doubtful.

Chloe peered at the mark for a moment in consideration.

"Where are the puncture marks then?" Arching an eyebrow she continued, "You and Vlad should really try and get out more."

And with that Chloe flounced from the room, satisfaction written all over her face, leaving Robin to examine the livid bruise in the mirror above the fireplace.

* * *

"Robin?" Vlad stepped back a little; Robin looked angry. _Really_ angry.

"You said you were going to give me a vampire bite."

"I did!" Vlad thought, soothing his over-active conscience, that it was only a half lie. He had _said_ it.

"Then why is Chloe saying that this," Robin wrenched at the collar of his T-shirt, exposing the purpling mark on his neck, "is a lovebite!"

"She, er, is really jealous?" Vlad held his hands out in what he hoped was a pacifying gesture. He really did _not_ want to be having this conversation with Robin.

"I think," Robin took a step closer, backing Vlad up against his bedroom wall, "that you lied about this being a half bite. I think," Robin was in his face now and Vlad thought – with just a hint of hysteria – that if he were to move his head slightly they would be kissing, "that you did it because you _fancy_ me."

"As if!"

Robin's eyes were glittering dangerously and Vlad swallowed. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't upset Robin more. What to say that wouldn't give everything away.

"I just," he looked away awkwardly, "thought it would be funny. You know. A joke."

Robin narrowed his eyes and scowled harder. "A joke! Well," Vlad shrunk back, for a moment convinced that Robin was about to hit him. "I don't think it's very funny." Robin took in the way Vlad had pressed himself against the wall and stepped back, moving over to the door.

He stopped at the threshold, his gaze searching for something – what, Vlad couldn't say. Whatever it was Vlad didn't think he found it because he snarled angrily, "It's not catching Vlad!" (At least that's what it sounded like) before stomping down the narrow staircase.

Vlad hit his head back against the wall in frustration. Why had he been so stupid? Robin had been joking about, telling him he should practice his bite on him. He had known it was a _bad_ idea, even as his mind had formulated the lie. But, no, as usual, he'd ploughed straight into it. Told Robin about the 'half-bite'; told him that he could drain energy without actually turning him.

Robin had believed him. Had grinned at him trustingly as Vlad leant in close and trailed his fingers across Robin's pulse point. Vlad shivered at the memory of Robin's arched neck, the smell of his aftershave. The taste of his pale skin. Robin was right; he _had_ only done it because he fancied him. Had fancied him for months and months. Vlad slid down the wall to sit on the floor. And in all that time Robin had never once given any indication that he might feel the same way.

"Aw," he swiped angrily at his eyes before looking up to see Ingrid stood in the open doorway, "Lover's tiff?"

Her laughter rang in his head for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Robin?" Mrs. Branaugh knocked softly on his bedroom door.

Robin ignored it and carried on flicking through his new copy of _Bite__Me_. It had been just over a week now since his argument with Vlad. A week of nothing but his own company all day and his family all night. A week of feeling lonely and useless, watching Vlad from a distance as he laughed and joked with his other friends. A week of kicking himself for being such a complete and utter _idiot._

He had liked Vlad for so long now it felt like he'd never been anything other than lovesick in his presence. So when Vlad had taken him up on his jokey offer, told him about the half-bite, he had offered his neck up willingly. The thought of having Vlad's lips pressed up against _any_ part of him far outweighing the many compelling reasons why he shouldn't do it.

He clenched his eyes shut. When Chloe had said it was a hickey he'd been stupid enough to hope that maybe, just maybe, it meant that Vlad liked him too. He'd been so nervous that he'd ended up yelling at Vlad, not that it had mattered. Vlad had just been mocking him. Using his pathetic crush as a way of humiliating him. Had even told him to his face that it had been nothing but a joke to him. _He_ was nothing but a joke to Vlad. The way Vlad had strained away from him, like he had some sort of infectious disease, was just proof of how little the other boy actually wanted to be close to him.

"Robin!" There was another knock, louder this time. Realising his mum wasn't going to go away, Robin flung the magazine to the floor and called for her to come in.

Mrs. Branaugh opened the door, balancing a tray with a mug of tea and some biscuits in one hand. She shut the door behind her and sat on the edge of his bed, forcing him to squirm closer to the headboard to make space.

"I hear you've had a little falling out with Vlad."

Robin scowled as he took the tea. "Who told you that?"

Mrs. Branaugh looked unperturbed. "I was up at the castle earlier to check on Ingrid."

Ingrid, Robin thought, could take care of herself. Before she'd found out that she was having Will's baby she'd managed to bring the Vampire world to the very brink of civil war.

"Vlad looked _so_ miserable Robin." Robin kept his gaze on his mug. It wasn't _his_ fault.

"Robin," she started cautiously, "when I said you were too young for that sort of thing, you did know what I meant, didn't you?"

Robin looked at her in confusion. When had she said that? How could he be too young to argue with Vlad?

He stopped trying to work it out and shook his head, "Not really."

Mrs. Branaugh sighed and patted his knee. Robin wondered morbidly if Dr. Evans had sent those test results back and he was dying or something. There was definitely something up. He glanced at the tray; ginger snaps. His favourites. He looked at his mother suspiciously.

"I only meant that you should be careful. There's plenty of time for _that_. Just look at Ingrid."

Robin grimaced in dawning realisation; she was going to give him _the_ talk. Like there was any chance of him getting a girl into Ingrid's _situation_.

Mrs. Branaugh continued obliviously. "But I would never tell you to break things off with Vlad."

Robin gaped at her in shock for a moment. He hadn't seen _that_ coming. "We never – we aren't – I didn't break up with him!"

"Oh, Robin I'm so sorry." Before he could protest he was being crushed into a hug. "I'm sure he'll realise what a mistake he's making. And if he doesn't, he doesn't deserve you."

* * *

"Will you stop that! You're getting on my nerves!"

Vlad looked up to see his sister's irate face. She was in the middle of lighting the candles around her Will shrine. He thought it was just creepy. It felt like everywhere he went Will's presence was lingering. He supposed at least she wasn't crying, or rounding up vampire freedom fighters from Moldova again.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes," Ingrid slammed her palms down on the table opposite him, leaning over to glare into his face, "you are! You keep sighing and gazing out of that window like some lovesick puppy. It's _pathetic_."

Vlad glanced over at her shrine but wisely didn't comment.

"'Will you tell him I'm sorry Mrs. Branaugh.'" Ingrid raised her voice a few octaves as she mimicked his earlier words. "If you love him that much why don't you just go and tell him yourself and get. Out. Of. My. Way!"

"He doesn't even like me!" Vlad shot back angrily, feeling a hot blush working its way down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. Ingrid always knew just how to annoy him. She was, if it was possible, even worse now that she was pregnant. She could snap from murderous rage to howling grief in seconds.

"I didn't see him complaining the other night when you were slobbering all over his neck."

"Ingrid!" Vlad hissed and jerked his head towards the crypt. "Dad might hear!"

"And?" Ingrid dropped into an empty chair and smiled nastily. "Nothing will make me happier than seeing his face when he realises you won't be carrying on the Dracula name."

"Yeah, well, not just yet. I would like to actually live to see my sixteenth birthday."

"Argh!" Ingrid clutched at the table suddenly, her face contorted in a grimace.

"Don't sound so shocked!"

"No, you spineless little toad! It's the baby!" Ingrid gritted her teeth, her face even paler than usual. Vlad panicked.

"What should I do?"

Ingrid gave him a particularly vicious scowl before grinding out, "Get Mrs. Branaugh!"

* * *

"So, Mr. Count, a granddad already."

Mr. Branaugh bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, his expression one of unadulterated glee. Ian and Paul shared a look that Robin interpreted as relief that his dad hadn't found out about any of _their_ near misses.

"And I suppose that you supervise the every action of your multiple and rather, _unfortunate,_ offspring." The Count said haughtily. Mr. Branaugh narrowed his eyes.

A scream from the curtained bed reverberated around the room, causing the Count to press his fingers to his forehead in apparent pain. Chloe's eyes were as wide as saucers. Robin guessed that this would be more effective than any of his parents' attempts at keeping things between her and Jonno on a strictly platonic footing.

"Still," Kurt chose that moment to pipe up; he had been living in the Branaugh's dining room for months now – and showed no sign of moving on any time soon. He had even become leader of the local Explorer Scout troop, much to Mr. Branaugh's unbridled delight. "It must be nice to know one of them is going to carry on the family line."

"Oh look at this," Robin rustled the newspaper loudly, trying to divert the Count's attention, "they're going ahead with that bypass."

The Count was having none of it, motioning one pale hand for him to shut up. "What," he moved to loom threateningly over Kurt, "are you drivelling about now?"

Kurt shrank back a little at the look on the Count's face. "I just meant that, seeing as Vlad and Robin are, you know – "

"Are _what_?" The Count took in Vlad's open mouthed shock and Robin's flushed embarrassment, his frown darkening as he made the intended link.

"Vlad!"

Robin wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole, Vlad would definitely never speak to him again now.

"This had better be some sort of joke. You and that, that - " The Count waved at Robin in disgust, "peasant!"

"That's my son you're talking about!" Mr. Branaugh pointed a finger in the Count's face. "I'm sorry, but it has to be said. If anything, Robin is _too_good for that troublemaker." He flung an arm out in Vlad's general direction.

"_Vladimir_ is my son and heir. He's going to be marrying Transylvanian nobility. Not cavorting with the spawn of the village idiot."

Mr. Branaugh pulled himself up to his full height. "So _you've_ been masterminding this split between them. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

They were nose to nose now. Ian and Paul, Robin could hear, were making bets on who would come out victorious. Robin risked a glance at Vlad – who looked absolutely horrified – and wondered if it was possible to literally _die_ of embarrassment. His dad was fighting for his right to date someone who, if pushed, would probably sooner gouge out his own eyeballs with Renfield's back scratcher than be seen dead, or undead, with him.

Just as things were about to degenerate into violence, Mrs. Branaugh emerged, hair everywhere and beaming brightly. "It's a girl."

* * *

"Shhh." Ingrid was cooing quietly to the baby in her arms, a soft smile playing about her lips.

Vlad didn't think he'd ever seen her smile like that before. As if she was actually happy, not just envisioning the pain and suffering of everyone she hated. It was creeping him out even more than the awful painting of Will, framed with swathes of black mourning crepe, hanging above the fireplace.

He glanced over at his father; he was sat on his throne, head cradled in his hands. Had been sat there, silent, for the better part of an hour. Ever since he'd ushered the Branaughs out of the door – Robin hadn't even spared him a backwards glance – and told Vlad to get out of his sight.

"It's all my fault." He moaned suddenly, breaking the tense silence. "I should never have let you buy that pink shirt." The Count glanced in his direction then turned away, as if the very sight of him was distasteful. "What am I supposed to tell your mother?"

Vlad twisted his hands in his lap. This whole thing wouldn't be so bad, he thought, if he actually had any chance of being with Robin at the end of it. The look of utter horror on Robin's face when Mr. Branaugh had misread their relationship had told him that there was no chance of it happening any time soon.

"Tell her to go stake herself?" Ingrid answered coldly in Vlad's stead, her chair scraping loudly as she stood to place the baby in her Moses basket.

"Whilst that does have a certain," the Count paused, "_attraction_, I hardly think it will placate the High Council." He swept across the room until he was behind Vlad's chair. "I'm just so very disappointed in you Vlad."

"Will you get over yourself!" Ingrid turned to face the Count, her hands on her hips. "They're not even together. _I_ lied to Mrs. Branaugh to force him," she pointed viciously at Vlad, "to do something about it. Breather Boy hasn't got the guts and Vlad has always been a total _wimpire_."

"Ingrid! Language!" The Count stalked closer to her. "That's the Grand High Vampire you're talking about."

"He's not even a proper vampire yet! Not that it'll make any difference." She smirked at both men, "Face it, Vlad couldn't _hypnotise_ someone into liking him."

"The boy is a Dracula! Look at him," They both looked at Vlad who was picking at his shirt cuff nervously, "he exudes animal magnetism."

Both Vlad and Ingrid stared at him incredulously.

"In fact," The Count continued, laying a hand on Vlad's shoulder and sneering nastily at Ingrid, "We'll have a party. Tomorrow. Celebrate Vlad's betrothal properly."

"You never threw a party for me and Will!" Ingrid yelled, completely drowning out Vlad's protests about his not _actually_ being betrothed.

She looked at Vlad, taking in his pale, anxious face and sighed. "Whatever. It's almost dawn; I'm putting Myra to bed."

The Count smirked in victory and disappeared down into the crypt, muttering about invitations and table decorations.

"What did you do that for?" Vlad hissed angrily. "He'll invite the entire Council and everyone will see what a loser I am!"

Ingrid stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Vlad, it pains me to have to help you, but, stop being such an idiot! Branaugh's mad about you." She looked him up and down derisively, "God only knows why. But," she shifted the weight of the basket, exhaustion written across her face, forcibly reminding Vlad of the fact that she'd only given birth hours before, "just trust me."

Vlad hesitated for just a moment before pulling her into a quick, awkward hug. When he stepped back he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. She blinked, and the vulnerability was gone. "Now leave me alone before I change my mind and use his blood to paint a mural on the nursery wall!"

Vlad just grinned and went to make himself look presentable.

* * *

"That's it Robin! Well done!"

Robin collapsed onto the wet muddy grass, his lungs burning with the effort to draw breath. Why had he let Kurt talk him into going on a 'fighting fit' day with his Scout troop? Agree to spend his Saturday morning _running_ in the cold winter air? A broken heart couldn't account for it - he must be losing his mind.

He rolled over and tried to get his arms to cooperate and give him the leverage he needed to get up. It wasn't happening. He settled for just lying there; sweat trickling down his face, his breathing still harsh and irregular.

This was all Vlad's fault. Vlad and his stupid _jokes_.

"Great race Scouts!" Kurt clapped his hands together and started jogging on the spot. "Now who's up for a game of rounders?"

Robin felt like crying.

xXx

"He's not here?"

"That's what I just said." Chloe folded her arms and scowled at him. Vlad swore that she got more like Ingrid every day. Maybe it was a girl thing rather than a Vampire thing.

"Well, where is he?" Vlad wished he didn't sound so panicked. He needed to find Robin, tell him he loved him, and ask him to marry him. And all before his mother and Patrick turned up on their doorstep with the entirety of the Inner Chamber and the gossip columnist from _The__Transylvania__Times_ in tow.

"He's at Kurt's 'Fighting Fit' day. We thought it might cheer him up." Mrs. Branaugh said, emerging from the kitchen. Chloe snorted in obvious amusement and disappeared back upstairs.

Vlad squirmed uncomfortably; Mrs. Branaugh's usual open smile had more than a hint of steel to it. He had no idea why everyone thought it was him who'd broken up with Robin. If he ever got to be with Robin he would _never_ give him up.

He just hoped Ingrid was right and he wasn't about to make the biggest fool of himself. She hadn't tried to stake him in his sleep for almost three months now; that had to mean she wasn't lying about it. _Had_ to.

Vlad was about to leave when a horrid smell assaulted him. He turned to see Renfield making his way up the Branaugh's driveway, just as Mrs. Branaugh called out, "Good morning Mr. Renfield!"

"Morning. The master asked me to deliver this."

He handed her a cream envelope, edged with black. Mrs. Branaugh opened it, 'ooh'-ing at Vlad in a way that said 'what could this be?' Vlad wished he didn't already know.

"A party tonight? For you and Robin? Oh, Vlad, how lovely!"

Suddenly he was being crushed into a hug by Mrs. Branaugh, which might not have been _so_ bad had Renfield not decided to join in too…

xXx

"Graham, have you got that basket for Ingrid?" Mr. Branaugh grunted and hauled a basket full of soft toys and jars full of, what it looked like to Robin, baby sick from the kitchen. Robin didn't think Ingrid would be overly impressed. He'd bought the baby a dummy that, from the front, looked like a mouthful of fangs – he was sure it would go down much better than pink bunnies and a copy of 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar'.

"But I wanted to see Jonno tonight!" Chloe glared at Robin as she shoved past him.

Robin scowled and – carefully – manoeuvred into his coat. He still felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of elephants.

"Chloe! Your brother needs your support." Mrs. Branaugh ushered them all out of the front door. "You can see Jonathan any time."

It was nice of his mum to be so concerned, Robin thought. She'd been fussing around him ever since him and Kurt had got back from 'fit' camp; ironing his favourite shirt and shining his shoes. And, it wasn't that he didn't appreciate it – he wanted Vlad to see he could look well turned out, even if it wasn't for the same reason his mother had in mind. But, really, it wasn't like he needed Chloe around to get through a _baby__shower_. He'd just smile politely at Vlad, show him that he was mature and that he didn't feel like Vlad had ripped his heart out through his ribcage, and then quietly read the paper or something until they could leave.

He'd survive.

Wincing at the way his legs ached he amended that thought. He'd survive – if he ever got there in the first place.

* * *

"Where is he?" The Count hissed at Vlad, trying not to let anyone overhear.

Vlad shook his head. He wished he knew. He had rang Robin's mobile phone until he looked desperate. Had knocked for him seven separate times – only to be told that Robin was still out with Kurt. Vlad couldn't understand it. Robin always said he'd sooner feed his own hand to his next door neighbour's rottweiler than do anything scout related.

He glared over at Ingrid. This was all her fault. She didn't even notice, too busy telling a journalist from _Good__Castlekeeping_ how she'd debated for months between the names 'Myra' and 'Margaret', finally settling on the former because no matter how much suffering Thatcher had caused, she had never, to the best of her knowledge, personally murdered anyone.

The Count nudged him harshly with his elbow and Vlad looked up to see Patrick leaving his mother's side – barely recognisable under a heavy black veil - and striding towards them, pushing through a small group of Council Ministers from the party (currently campaigning under the slogan '_Vote__Far__Right__for__your__Children's__Right__to__Kill'_), much to their obvious disgust. His dad plastered a false smile on his face and Vlad made an attempt to at least look mildly pleased to see him. He had a feeling it failed.

"So, a double celebration." Patrick gestured at the pitiful banners Renfield had made: 'Congratulations Vladimiir and Robin.' And it's hastily erected twin: 'Congrattulations Ingrid and baby Mira.' "And neither of them 18 yet. You must be _so_ proud."

The Count glared at Patrick, all attempts at civility forgotten. "Tell me, how is your _mongrel_ these days? Still regurgitating fur balls? Or has he advanced to chewing the furniture?" Patrick glowered. "Now," the Count waved a hand in dismissal, "if you'll excuse me."

Vlad coughed to hide his laughter. Then he turned to see where his father had gone and choked, coughing in earnest.

xXx

Robin looked around the room in shock, there were people _everywhere_. When his mum had said there was going to be a party he had expected it to be them and Vlad's family, possibly, at a push, Vlad's mum. Though he wouldn't have counted on it. Ingrid had chained her to a sun-bed and left her to die less than six months ago. From what he'd heard the burns still hadn't healed.

The Count approached and clasped him by the shoulders, startling Robin. "Finally, the guest of honour."

Every one turned to stare at him.

Robin looked round helplessly. His parents were smiling encouragingly at him, Chloe huffily pretending that she wasn't the slightest bit interested. He looked over at Vlad who was nervously scuffing the tow of his shoe against the flagstone floor. This was _weird_.

The Count clapped his hands – accompanying it with a theatrical crack of thunder – and spoke, "Now we can begin."

xXx

The band began to play some sombre number that sounded more like a funeral march than a celebration to Vlad's ears. Reluctantly he crossed the room and stood in front of Robin, hyper aware of the intense scrutiny of the vampires he was soon to be in charge of.

He wished Robin would stop gawping at him in shock as he bowed deeply and took Robin's unresisting hands in his own. Vlad prayed that Robin would just go along with him – he could explain everything to him after. They just had to get through one dance.

"Step back!" Vlad hissed as he trod on Robin's foot. It was going to be more difficult than he'd first thought.

"What's going on?" Robin hissed back, wincing as Vlad inadvertently stepped on his other foot.

Vlad spun them both round forcibly; he'd planned to have spent the afternoon practising the courtship dance with Robin. It was an important part of a betrothal and he'd wanted it to be step-perfect, a sign they would be compatible in everything else they did. Always assuming, of course, that Robin wouldn't have just laughed in his face when he suggested it.

Robin lost his footing, almost sending them both sprawling to the ground. Vlad cursed Baden-Powell's existence.

xXx

Robin was relieved beyond measure to see other couples joining the dance. He'd never been very good at dancing, not least under the watchful gaze of a room full of blood thirsty vampire _and_ his parents, when his limbs felt like they were about to give up and seize up entirely, and – and whilst holding hands with Vlad.

He shuffled awkwardly, following Vlad's lead and wondered if the Count was planning to serve him up as a main course again. It was the usual goal of such elaborate schemes.

"Vlad, tell me what's happening."

"It's tradition." They spun again before Vlad continued. "To prove we move in sync." They swapped partners for two steps then rejoined hands, following the flow of the music. Vlad took the opportunity to step in closer and say quietly, "Symbolic of the way our souls will be in sync in marriage."

Robin stopped suddenly, causing the couple closest to them to spin straight into him. Robin landed on the floor, looking up at Vlad in disbelief. Above him was a banner reading 'Congratulations Vladimiir and Robin'. Robin gaped for a long moment before managing to stutter out,

"_What_!"

* * *

"My thoughts exactly." The words rang out across the silent hall as one of the F. Right Ministers moved over to Robin, hauling him up roughly from the floor by his shirt. "What has become of our great race? When you can stand by and allow this abomination to continue under your very noses? When you allow him," he pointed at Vlad, "to make a mockery of everything we have worked so hard for?"

Vlad clenched his fists at his sides, unfamiliar anger coursing through him. He had already fought this battle: he was Grand High Vampire and there was nothing anyone – not himself, not Ingrid, and most certainly not the outdated bigots of the F. Right party – could do about it.

Minister Tschetter continued, his long fingernails clenching painfully into Robin's shoulders. "Not only does he want us to _accommodate_ them, to let our children grow hungry so they might prosper. He would sink so low as to bring shame on our exalted ancestors by entering into a union with one of _them_."

Vlad heard Mrs. Branaugh draw in a shocked breath and was relieved she'd misunderstood Tschetter's stress on the word.

"A union," Tschetter looked around the room sombrely, "in which he is not even dominant!"

There were murmurs of agreement amongst the crowd, some of the more aged guests nodding their approval of Minister Tschetter's words. Chloe stamped on Paul's foot when he began to nod along, glaring at her brother.

"What have you to say for yourself, Dracula?"

"Well," the Count shrugged, "I admit he was not my first choice," he glanced over at Mr. Branaugh, pulling a face, "but – "

"Silence!" Tschetter snarled. Lightening cracked across the night sky and Robin's face paled as his grip grew tighter. "I was not asking _you_."

Vlad inhaled deeply, struggling to reign in the overwhelming urge to go for Tschetter's throat. Instead he glowered at the man, pausing to sweep his gaze across the assembled vampires, more than one lowered their heads at its intensity.

"_You_ dare to question me?" His voice was a low growl and he tried not to bask in the look of unguarded admiration on Robin's face. "Have you forgotten what happened to Istok?"

Minister Istok _had_ been leader of the F. Right party. Just after Ingrid had returned home to Stokely an emergency meeting had been arranged to discuss how best to control the forces she'd raised in Eastern Europe. Istok had made the fatal mistake of insulting Ingrid, calling her fat. She had staked him with a Council issue letter opener.

Vlad had grappled with her for it, asking how she could be so inconsiderate as to ruin his chances of finally getting the F. Right faction on side. Just as he'd wrestled it free from her grip Tschetter and Andrei, Vlad's new chief advisor, had burst in to see what the commotion was, only to find Istok dust and Vlad apparently threatening his own sister with the same fate.

The wildly exaggerated reports of his violence in the morning papers had been the turning point in his gaining the support of the general vampire populace.

"And if you don't let go of him _right_ _now_ I'll do the same to you!"

The room was full of excited twittering; perhaps the boy would not be such a useless leader after all. Tschetter hesitated for a long moment before releasing Robin, pushing him violently so he sprawled at Vlad's feet.

"You've not heard the last of this!" The candles flickered and sputtered out. By the time Renfield had rushed forward to relight them, Tschetter was gone.

* * *

"Well done, Vlad!" The Count clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. Vlad shrugged modestly.

"I can't believe you're still taking the credit for that." Ingrid crossed her arms huffily. "Like _you_ would have had the guts to stake a Minister. Still," she relented slightly, smirking, "I can't see old Tschetter trying his luck again any time soon."

Robin watched the exchange with growing frustration. _He_was the one who had just been threatened by a madman. He looked around the hall; the band had started up again and the guests were talking animatedly amongst themselves, all but totally ignoring him. Chloe was engrossed in her mobile phone – no doubt texting Jonno - Ian and Paul had used the distraction to push their way to the front of the queue for the buffet. His parents were busy fussing over Vlad.

_Typical_, he thought bitterly.

"Don't 'elp me up then." Robin pulled himself to his feet, wincing slightly as his leg muscles protested.

Vlad rushed forward to help him then and Robin noted with satisfaction the look of guilt on his mother's face.

"Sorry," Vlad tried to brush some of the dirt off his shirt, succeeding only in making it worse, "are you alright?"

"What do you think!"

Their families tactfully withdrew to sit with Kurt, who was busy telling some disinterested junior member of the Inner Chamber about the novel he was working on, based on his dictaphone notes: a vampire slaying, self-defence teaching, scout leader who finds love with a librarian in a strange town.

"I did try and tell you." Vlad whined as soon as they were alone.

"What? That you were planning on 'umiliating me some more?"

"No!" An aged couple glanced over at them and muttered indulgently about young love and the glory days of vicious fighting. Vlad continued, voice hushed, "about this party. And-" he suddenly seemed to find his shoes very interesting, "that I like you."

"_Right_, and tomorrow you'll be telling me it was just another joke. I'm not stupid Vlad!"

"I had to say that, you were going to hit me!"

"I was not!"

Vlad winced and glanced around them, they were starting to attract attention in earnest now. "Look, why don't we go upstairs and I can explain. Please?"

Robin scowled and deliberated for a long moment before, finally, nodding and letting Vlad lead the way.

xXx

Robin watched as Vlad snatched up piles of clothes from the bed and dumped them to the floor. It looked like Vlad had tried on _every_ piece of clothing he owned which didn't make _any_ sense because the shirt Vlad was wearing, whilst one he always told Vlad was 'cool' (a safe way of saying 'it makes me want to pin you down and never let you back up'), was one he knew Vlad hated. Just as Vlad finished making enough space for them to sit Robin realised that Vlad must be wearing it for _him_. Suddenly he felt a lot less hard done by.

Vlad bit his lip and motioned for him to sit down. "This," Vlad waved a hand, "_party_, it's not like binding or anything. They won't _make_ you marry me if you don't want to." Vlad wrung his hands in his lap and kept his gaze on the floor.

"Would they make you bite me if we got married?"

"No!" Vlad looked up at him in horror. Robin sighed; it had been worth a try. Vlad wrung his hands more insistently. "You were right. I lied about that stupid bite. I – I just wanted to kiss you. If you don't feel the same way," Vlad continued, grimacing miserably for a moment, "It's alright. I'll understand."

Robin took a deep breath, and shifted closer. If kissing was what Vlad wanted, then kissing was what Vlad was going to get…

xXx

"I'm a master of the chess board!" The Count flashed a smile at the girl; smirking inwardly at the knowledge Magda was watching him. Ah, revenge: a dish best served cold. Flicking his hair he continued, "Vlad will tell you. Vlad?," he called. "Vlad!" The Count scanned the room; there was no sign of the boy.

"VLADIMIR!"

xXx

Vlad clutched Robin closer, gasping into the other boy's mouth as warm hands worked their way under the monstrosity of a shirt he was wearing. Robin's response was to push him back against the mattress.

"_Robin_." Vlad groaned.

"Vlad!"

Vlad opened his eyes – that was _not_ Robin's voice - to see his dad towering above them. He didn't look happy.

Robin cursed and pushed away from him like he'd been scalded. Vlad blushed and pushed his shirt back down.

"I didn't go to the trouble of throwing a party for you to spend it up here," The Count growled, "get back downstairs." He glared at Robin, "Now!"

Robin exchanged an anxious glance with Vlad before doing as he was told. The Count waited until Robin was through the door before motioning it shut with a flick of his wrist. He dropped down on the bed next to Vlad, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"Vlad, I'm impressed. I thought it would take you _months_to get that far."

"_Dad!_" Vlad pulled a face.

The Count smiled at him, "My little Vladdy, all grown up." He stood up. "Don't worry, I'll teach you all the tips. He won't go looking elsewhere." With that, The Count disappeared back to the hall. Vlad shuddered. That was one vampire lesson he would _not_ be attending.

xXx

"I'm still not marrying you, you know." Robin said, chin in his hand as he stared at Vlad over a plate full of cake. "It's for girls."

Vlad kissed his cheek. "You'll change your mind one day."

Robin glanced across the hall to where his parents were dancing the twist – out of sync – and scowled. "I wouldn't count on it."

Grinning, Vlad stole a forkful of cake. "Not even if it meant I'd just _have_ to bite you so we could be together forever and ever and ever?"

Robin frowned for a moment, as if considering something.

"Would we get a double coffin?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

"Alright," Robin took the fork back off of him, "I'll _think_ about it."

Vlad sat back in his chair, taking in the mayhem around him as Robin ate his cake. Chloe had her phone pressed tight to her ear, stood on a chair in the hope of getting a better signal. Next to her Mr. and Mrs. Branagh had moved on to disco, Kurt still attempting to impress the minister with his rendition of _Kung Fu Fighting_. Across the room his own dad was busy chatting up a girl younger than Ingrid, stealing glances at Magda roughly every thirty seconds.

Meanwhile Ingrid was busy yelling directions at Ian and Paul, she'd decided that Myra would benefit from having the Will shrine reassembled next to her crib. Myra herself was sleeping peacefully in her Moses basket on the chair next to him. Her little face was screwed up in a scowl; she looked, to Vlad's mind at least, just like a mini Ingrid.

Vlad's gaze settled back on Robin and he smiled. There might be nothing normal about his life but, for the first time, he didn't want to change a thing.


	99. Chapter 99

**[ _A/N:__In __which __Vlad __learns __you __should __be __careful __what __you __wish __for._]**

"Oi, Branagh!" Price yelled from the classroom doorway, Mr. Perkins having disappeared to do whatever it was he disappeared to do. "Tell your boyfriend Jenkins wants to see him after school!"

"He's not my _boyfriend_," Robin scowled back, muttering "why don't you tell him yourself?" under his breath. Vlad cringed, keeping his gaze fixed steadily on his terrible artwork. He was sure if anyone saw his face they'd be able to see the crushing despair the fact inspired in him.

Price looked from one to the other, grinning at having received the anticipated response. "Aw, had a falling out 'ave you? Not man enough for him?" There was a lot of sniggering and Vlad risked a glance in Robin's direction. His expression was murderous.

"I'm _not_ gay!" Robin ground out.

"Whatever you say," Price smirked, nodding at his friends. "Count, don't forget. Rugby practice, be there." With that he disappeared, doubtless ready to spend the next ten minutes loitering before returning to his own lesson in time for the bell.

"Just ignore him," Vlad whispered after a moment, Robin having thrown down his pencil and scowling into the middle distance. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"It just," Robin snatched up the pencil, pressing it viciously against the paper in front of him, "does my head in. Why would I ever look at you that way?" He tried to lighten the mood, "Not when you've got a sister like Ingrid!"

Vlad swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and looked away. Why indeed?

* * *

"Vladdy!" The Count exclaimed the instant he was through the door, still streaked with mud and aching all over. Robin had been right about rugby. "My favourite child!"

Ingrid sneered over at them both but didn't comment. The Count put a hand on his shoulder and steered him over to the dining table, pushing him into a chair with a stack of books were teetering on the tabletop in front of him.

"Vampire lore," The Count said, slamming a hand on the pile and sending them crashing down. A pained expression crossed his face as he waited for the movement – and accompanying noise – to stop. "Vampire lore," he started again.

"Is something Vlad knows nothing about," Ingrid cut in. "He doesn't even know who the first Head of the Council was."

"I do," Vlad protested, "It was, er-" His mind was blank, he pushed thoughts of Chamberlain away. "It'll come to me. Anyway," he snapped, "that's history, not," he hooked his fingers in the air, "vampire lore."

Ingrid smiled and shrugged, "But they're on the same paper."

Vlad scowled. To the Count he said, "Do we have to start today? I need to work on my English coursework."

"Vlad," the Count said, cupping his chin in one cool hand, "You won't need English when you're the Grand High Vampire. Now," he picked up one heavy tome that looked as thick as his head, voice dropping dangerously, "Get on with it!"

* * *

"It's so unfair!" He complained to Zoltan later that evening. "I don't want to learn about stupid vampire lore!" His head was aching from trying to decipher the elaborate medieval script. His legs and back were aching from rugby training. His eyes were aching with the effort to stay awake and get it done. It just _wasn't_ fair.

"But you will need it when you are the Grand High Vampire, Master Vlad," Zoltan told him in his infuriatingly calm tone.

"I don't want to be the stupid Grand High Vampire either!" Vlad protested. He didn't. All he wanted was to be a normal teenage boy. With a Dad who didn't spend his nights feasting on the blood of still living livestock, and a sister who didn't threaten to drive a stake through his heart every time he so much as breathed in her presence.

And, most of all, a best friend who didn't only want to spend time with him because he was destined to turn into one of the undead. He amended that in his head, a best friend who wanted to spend time with him because he felt the same way about _him_ as he felt about them.

He scrubbed at his eyes angrily, telling himself to get a grip. Robin had made it abundantly clear – over and over again – that_that_ was never going to happen. Zoltan eyed him up curiously and Vlad sighed. "None of it's sinking in."

"Perhaps you should try reading it aloud?" Zoltan suggested. Vlad thought he had heard worse ideas.

"Whilst in Maracanda, lately Samarkand," he stumbled over the unfamiliar words, "I heard a curious tale from the natives. Given to credulity, such as would be unfitting in even the humblest of hovels of our own kingdom, they told of the, er," he stared down at the squiggles on the page in confusion. Finally he went on, choosing to ignore it, "They believe that dark forces can manifest, the vampire state created by the intensely evil desires of the inner," there were more squiggles and Vlad frowned in frustration.

It wasn't making any more sense than it had in his head.

"By ritual appeal to this inner," he shrugged, "thingy the natural body may be changed. Prolonged life or unnatural strength may be attained. Such is the vanity of old wives' tales."

Underneath there were more squiggles, set out in what looked like a poem. Under that there was, he presumed, a phonetic guide to pronouncing them. Somebody had scrawled enthusiastically in the margin 'For dreams bring nightmares to the fore.' He peered closer at the looped script and wondered if Ingrid had done it.

_She_ didn't know how good she had it, he thought bitterly. She was free to do everything he'd ever dreamed of, could literally have _everything_ he wanted at the snap of her fingers – Robin's lack of tact on that front never got any easier to deal with – but all she could do was _complain_.

"Like the genie and the lamp," Zoltan said when it was clear Vlad wasn't going to do more than murmur the awkward sounding words to himself, "the granting of a wish."

Vlad snorted, slamming the book shut and putting it on his nightstand. He couldn't take any more of it. "Do you know what I'd wish for?" He said, tone more vicious than usual, mind still fixated on the unfairness of his lot in life. On Robin's earlier words. Zoltan just waited for elaboration. Vlad reached for the light switch,

"I'd wish I was a girl."

* * *

His mood wasn't much improved when he woke up the next morning. He scrubbed at his eyes and decided not to bother getting dressed until after breakfast. He glanced at his alarm clock; Robin wouldn't be up for hours yet anyway, not on a Saturday.

The Count and Ingrid were both at the table when he made his way downstairs. He was surprised at the lack of snide comments from Ingrid as he slid into an empty seat, reaching for the cereal box and pouring a bowlful. He'd managed to add milk and take a mouthful before it surpassed the realm of unusual into creepy.

He looked up to see Ingrid's eyes wide, his Dad gaping openly. "What?" He asked slowly, glancing from one to the other, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Ingrid passed over her press powder compact, the one with the mirror she now used for nothing more than checking out how many people were admiring her, remaining totally silent. Vlad hesitated for a moment before looking into it. What he saw made him drop it to the table with numb fingers, the fragile glass cracking in its case.

Renfield chose that moment to emerge from the kitchens, shrieking and dropping the Count's breakfast to the flagstone floor with a clatter.

"Master! There's another one!"

"How could this have happened!" The Count demanded angrily, then pressing a hand to his forehead in grief. "My son and heir, robbed from me!"

"I'm not dead!" Vlad protested, getting up from his bed to pace. "There has to be some way to turn it back, right?"

He looked to Ingrid, hoping desperately for confirmation. Ingrid looked up from the book – the stupid cursed book – and smiled sweetly. "But you make such a pretty little girl, why would you want to go back to being you?"

"Ingrid," he jabbed a finger at her, hysteria rising, "this is _not_ funny! I can't stay like _this_." He gestured down at himself, grimacing as he caught sight of himself in his mirror. His pyjamas were clinging in all sorts of places they shouldn't, the angle of his jaw had softened, and his hands looked smaller somehow. Daintier. He felt like he was about to start hyperventilating.

"What have I done to deserve this?" The Count wailed, staring intently at the shuttered window, "To be forever burdened with daughters? Have I not always strove to be evil and bloodthirsty? Cruel and selfish?"

"Dad," Vlad started, embarrassed to feel the sting of unshed tears in his eyes. "I'm still the same person."

"I can't look at you," the Count said, expression pained, disappearing from the room.

Ingrid slammed the book shut and dropped it onto his bed, smirking.

"Welcome to my world."

* * *

Vlad stood on the Branaghs' doorstep, waiting anxiously for someone to come to the door. He was wearing the baggiest jumper he could find, hair combed down in an attempt to hide his face. In spite of it all he still looked like a girl, the reflection staring back at him from the panes of glass in the door looked like a stranger.

Mrs. Branagh pulled open the door, "Oh, hello." She looked him up and down, the slightest hint of a frown knitting her brows as she tried to place who he was. "Are you here for Chloe?"

Vlad bit at his lip, fighting the urge to just freak out. "Is Robin in please?"

Mrs. Branagh's smile changed, beaming brightly as she assessed him up as potential girlfriend material and he squirmed uncomfortably. "Robin!" She called, "There's a girl here to see you!"

"To see Robin!" He heard Ian's voice, "As if!"

"Out the way Mam," Paul said, manoeuvring his way round her in the narrow hallway, "She must be knocking for us."

Paul looked at him in shock for an instant, and then a grin curled across his face. Ian was smiling at him from over his brother's shoulder. "I'm Paul," he pointed at himself.

"And I'm Ian," Ian nodded.

"Nice to meet you," Paul went on. Vlad looked at his feet as the other boy's gaze raked him up and down. He felt sick.

Finally Robin pushed between the two of them, frowning at him for a long moment. Then his jaw dropped. "Vlad!"

* * *

"I need your help, Robin," Vlad pleaded once he'd explained what had happened. Robin was still gaping, had done nothing but gape as he'd hastily lied and told Mrs. Branagh he was his own cousin Mira, visiting from Romania. As he had all but dragged Robin up the stairs and into his bedroom.

There was no answer.

"We need to find a way to reverse it. There _must_ be a way. I need you to help me find it."

Robin was still silent, gaze trailing up and down and Vlad crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. "'Ave –" Robin swallowed and started again, "You're really a girl then? You've got the-" His gaze lowered again.

"Robin," Vlad hissed, jabbing a finger at his own cheek, "My face is here!"

"Yeah," Robin said slowly, making an obvious effort to focus on his face and not on his treacherous body. "Yeah," He repeated, dropping to sit on his bed, all the while staring at Vlad in wonderment.

Vlad sat down awkwardly next to him, wishing Robin would give him that sort of look when he was himself. He was so stupid. If he'd known it would work he could have wished for Robin to like him back. Could have wished to be human! He didn't want to dwell on the order in which the two thoughts had occurred to him.

"So will you help me?" He asked quietly.

Robin stared at him for a moment longer before visibly pulling himself together. "Yeah, course." He broke out into a huge grin, lecherous gaze dropping once more, "You're so lucky, Vlad. All the best stuff happens to you!"

"Yeah," Vlad shook his head, turning away, "My life just can't get any better."

* * *

"Dad," Vlad started quietly, "I finished the essay for you." He held out the vampire lore essay he'd been reading the book for, trying not to look at the way his handwriting was different to usual, the press of pen fainter and the angle altered.

The Count put a hand up to his face, palm outwards, turning his gaze away. "You'll have no use of it now," he said in a maudlin tone. "No girl has ever sat on the Council."

"But I'm not a girl!" His voice was a near yell, his temper seeming much closer to the surface than before. He wondered absently if this was why Ingrid was so volatile.

"You look like a girl to me," Ingrid said, grinning all across her face. He'd never seen her look as happy as she had that weekend, not since Will's death at least. "Just think of what all your little breather friends are going to say tomorrow," she crowed.

Vlad felt the blood drain from his face. School, he had to go to school.

"Just face it, Vlad, or should that be Vladimira?" She shrugged, "There is nothing you can do. You might as well just accept it and do something about your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Vlad asked in paranoia, patting at it. It felt weirdly fine and soft.

"What's _right_ with it?" Ingrid retorted. She sidled in closer, pitching her next comment for his ears alone, "Branagh won't be impressed."

"Why would I care what Robin thinks about it?" He asked, tone nervous.

Ingrid just straightened up, "If you change your mind," she smirked, "you know where I am."

* * *

Vlad did change his mind. Back and forth, over and over again, as he lay tossing and turning. If he went to school, then it would be like accepting it. That it had really happened to him. But, what would he do otherwise. Stay at home for weeks and weeks, searching fruitlessly for a counter-curse until it was too late and he was battling it out in the blood mirror room?

Ingrid's words kept going round and round in his mind. He'd seen the way Robin had looked at him in his bedroom. Had caught the admiring glances the other boy had snuck his way when they were working in the library that afternoon. As Vlad he would never have a chance, he knew.

But, maybe, as Mira, Robin could come to love him back.

* * *

"What are you doing!" Vlad exclaimed, hand flying to his eye at the sudden stab of pain.

Ingrid growled, "Just keep still."

"You're trying to blind me!" He accused, eyeing up the weird brush thing in her hand.

"Tell me, why am I bothering again?" Ingrid muttered under her breath, wrenching his hand away and attacking his eye again. This time it didn't jab him in the eye and she moved from one to the other, before rifling through the largest box of make-up he had ever seen. And he'd seen his mother's.

"Do I really have to wear this?" He asked plaintively as she fussed with his hair. "I feel like an idiot."

"That's because you are an idiot," Ingrid said distractedly.

"Yeah, but at least normally," he gave her a pointed look, "I'm not an idiot in a skirt."

"Boys like girls in short skirts," she said simply.

"I don't."

Ingrid sneered at him, a look that told him he was testing her patience, "You don't like _girls_."

He supposed he couldn't really argue with that.

"And now it doesn't matter," she smiled, stepping back to admire her handiwork, "because you _are_ a girl."

Vlad got up and peered curiously into the mirror on her dressing table. He didn't recognise himself. At all. He prodded carefully at the artificial colour in his cheeks and the powder around his eyes. It was exactly the sort of thing Robin went mad over. And, Ingrid knew it.

He turned to face her, frowning. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I don't do _nice_."

He sighed, "Just answer the question."

Ingrid hesitated for a moment, seemingly weighing up her options, before speaking, "All my life I've been second best. Before you were even born I was just a _girl_, surplus to requirements. Just an_unfortunate_ mishap on the quest for a son and heir." Her tone was dark and dangerous, laced with years of pent up resentment.

"But," her tone lightened, the barest hint of a smile on her lips, "now, all that's going to change. I'm the eldest." She really smiled then, the expression transforming her face. "I'm going to inherit the title, the castle, _everything!_"

She shrugged, "If all you want is Branagh, I won't begrudge you it."

Vlad swallowed, the speech having unnerved him. Forcefully he pushed the feeling away. He'd find a way to reverse it. And, if he didn't… he gave his sister one last backwards glance, hauling his book bag to one shoulder. Ingrid was more than capable.

* * *

"Mira!" Mrs. Branagh smiled in recognition, turning to call, "Robin!"

Chloe eyed him up curiously as she made her way out of the door. Vlad blushed and looked away from her searching gaze. He'd begged Robin not to tell anyone. As far as everyone else was concerned he was conducting an exchange visit to Romania.

Before Chloe could make any connection Robin was barging through the door, still shrugging into his coat, a piece of toast clamped between his teeth. When he saw him he opened his mouth and it fell to the floor.

"_Vlad?"_

He suddenly felt very stupid. "Yeah, I know, I look like an idiot."

Robin gaped, eyes raking up his legs, past the skirt, lingering at his chest, taking in the way Ingrid's old school uniform accentuated the changes the curse had effected in his body.

Vlad watched as Robin bit at his lip, the other boy deliberately fixing his gaze on Vlad's face. Robin's voice was rough as he said, "Come on, we're going to be late."

He couldn't help but feel smug. Robin had never once, in all the time he'd known him, had to resort to pretending to care about being late for school.

* * *

"So, Mira, is it?" Richard Price said, perching on the edge of his desk. Watson and Davis, Price's cronies were gathered around, as was Jonno Van Helsing and his group of geeky prefects. "It looks like Romania got the rough deal in this exchange."

Davis sniggered and Vlad glared at him.

"If you need someone to show you around," Jonno said breathlessly, "don't hesitate to ask me."

"Or me." There was a chorus of voices around him.

Vlad looked away, feeling uneasy. What was taking Robin so long! Now was not the time for him to spend half hour in the bathroom admiring himself in the mirror!

"Don't be a dick, Van Helstinks," Price sneered. "She's not going to want to spend any time with you." He leaned in closer. The only time he had ever been this close to Price before, Vlad reflected, was when the bigger boy had him up against the changing room wall by his neck, threatening to break his nose. "I'm free this evening," Price raised an eyebrow, "If you know what I mean."

"You don't want _him_," Watson cut in, "_I'll_ show you how the Welsh 'ave a good time."

Vlad felt faintly ill. Spotting the sight of Robin's familiar leather jacket in the doorway, Vlad made a hasty decision. He hoped Robin wouldn't be too upset about it.

"I'd love to," he lied, plastering a false smile on his face, "but I already have a boyfriend."

"Back in Romania?" Davis asked, looking disappointed.

He shook his head, glancing up as Robin dropped down into the seat next to him; He dared to touch a hand to Robin's arm, "Here."

* * *

"Vlad!" Robin hissed as the bell finally sounded for lunch and they could speak, "What were you thinking? Has it made you lose your mind too!"

"I just wanted them to leave me alone," Vlad said contritely. "It's not like you have to do anything." Robin looked at him at that, a strangely intense expression on his face. Vlad realised suddenly how close they were, how his heart was beating at super speed in his chest.

At least he didn't have to try to hide his usual reaction to Robin's proximity, he thought dimly, skin burning with the desire to just reach out and touch Robin. To kiss him.

And, then, Robin was pulling away, flushing red in embarrassment. "This is just too weird, Vlad." He shook his head, putting more space between them, "If you could see yourself-" his voice was shaky, "If you knew what it was doing to-" He cut himself off abruptly. "Let's just get some lunch, yeah?"

Vlad nodded and followed, although it was a good few minutes before his heart rate resumed its normal state.

* * *

Their last lesson was games and Vlad trailed behind Robin without thinking. The cheer that went up in the changing room soon reminded him of the situation however.

"Wahey!" Davis called.

Price smirked, "Take 'em off!"

"Boys!" Jenkins barked, expression completely changing as he turned to him. "You must be Mira?" He said, "You shouldn't be in here." Jenkins put an overly familiar hand on the small of his back, steering him from the room and over to the entrance to the girls' changing room. The hand lingered and Vlad grimaced, ducking through the door as quickly as he could.

The girls were right, Jenkins was a perv.

Once inside nerves hit him full force. He could probably be locked up if it got who he really was, he thought anxiously.

"Delila," Delila introduced herself, looking him up and down before smiling again. "You can come and join us."

"Oh, er, thanks," he stuttered, trying to keep his gaze on the floor, just in case. He dropped his kit bag to the bench, awkwardly clambering into Ingrid's gym kit. The clasp of the gym skirt confounded him and he struggled with it clumsily. He'd finally managed to get it done up when he realised someone was speaking to him.

"So, like, oh my God," Kelsey Peterson started, one hand on her hip, "are you really going out with _Robin __Branagh_?"

He nodded tentatively.

"I told you so," Kelsey said to the other three girls hanging around her.

Delila frowned, "What do you see in Branagh? He's such a minger."

"No, he's not!" The words were more heated than he'd intended and he blushed.

"No accounting for taste," Stacey Darner said, shaking her head.

"Must run in the genes," Delila sniggered in a whisper not meant for his ears. "Count won't be happy when he gets back." There was muffled giggling and Vlad wished he could be anywhere else.

"Hey," Delila said suddenly, taking in his expression, "it's nothing against _you_. It's just," she pulled a face, "Branagh."

Stacey smiled at him, "Don't listen to a word she says, she fancies _Tommo __Watson_."

"No, I don't!" Delila's blush said otherwise.

Stacey winked at him and he couldn't help but smile back. As they trailed out to the netball courts, the other girls discussing how best they could get out of breaking a sweat – surprisingly similar to Robin's usual games conversation – Vlad felt like he had passed some sort of initiation ritual.

* * *

Life quickly settled into a routine, as bizarre as the whole situation still seemed every time he stopped to think about it. He went to school and stuck like glue to Robin's side, whenever he could, inwardly thrilling every time he caught Robin watching him. Which was a lot.

At home Robin helped him scour the library for a counter-curse. The Count moped about despondently, spending days at a time in his coffin. At first he tried to talk to him but, after being told to go away for the fortieth time, got Ingrid to teach him how to use her pastes and brushes and powder instead.

Sometimes he had bouts of panic and spent hours holed up in the library, straining his eyes in the candlelight, desperately searching for a solution. At other times he felt like he could hardly care less if he never found one. These were invariably times when Robin was around, sneaking furtive glances at him and blushing whenever he was caught out.

It was one such time three weeks after he'd first read the book. They were sat on Vlad's bed, books propped in their laps. The silence was thick with tension and when Vlad looked up it was to find Robin staring openly at him.

"Robin?" He managed to get out, although it was little more than a whisper. He was impressed with that, given the way Robin's dark brown eyes were fixed on him. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, his skin tingling under the intense regard.

His book slid to the floor, Robin dumping his own to the bed as he moved closer, pressing trembling fingers to his cheek before kissing him. His hands flew to Robin's hair, curling in it as Robin angled his head, deepening the kiss until all Vlad could do was clutch on to him and try and follow his lead.

Robin's other hand trailed down his side, the touch feeling amazing and wrong at the same time, following the alien contours of this body that wasn't quite his. Robin didn't seem to notice however, pushing him back and kissing him deeper still. He moved so he was straddling him, hands pushing up under the blouse Ingrid had given him and tracing soft patterns across his bare skin.

He could _feel_how turned on Robin was, excitement coursing through him at the fact. He clutched Robin closer, surging up against him as Robin moved lower, sucking wetly at his neck. He writhed under the touch, wishing he was himself, wishing he could guide Robin's hand and fulfil all the messy fantasies he'd been having about him.

He settled for groaning Robin's name, twisting his fingers tighter in Robin's shirt as he sucked harder against the skin of his throat. Robin moved against him, eyes clenching shut, his name falling from his lips, "_Vlad."_

"Oh God. _Vlad."_ It took a moment to process the change in tone, although it was helped along by the way Robin scrambled off of him, hand pressed to his mouth, eyes wild. "I'm so sorry, Vlad. Oh God." He could see that Robin was shaking and he reached a hand out to him. Robin jerked away violently.

"I have to- I shouldn't – _Oh __my __God_."

Robin gave him one last horrified look before bolting from the room, the sound of the great door slamming reverberating through the castle.

He couldn't believe he'd been so monumentally stupid.

* * *

It was dark when the knock came on his door, and he was reasonably certain his eyes had returned to normal. Although his pillow was still covered in black smears where he had sobbed into it.

"Vlad?" It was Ingrid. He sat up wearily, breath heavy and slow from the crying. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah," he replied and Ingrid snapped her fingers, all his snuffed candles sputtering into life. He took one look at her pale face and asked, "What's happened?"

"It's Dad, the Council," she shook her head, uncharacteristically struggling for words, "Just come with me."

Vlad followed Ingrid down their narrow staircase, into the Great Hall. There were three official looking vampires waiting, the Count on his knees, head bowed, between them.

"So it is true?" The eldest looking vampire sneered. "This is what has become of the _dignity_ of the Dracula dynasty."

Ingrid caught his eyes and made a scrubbing motion at her cheek. Vlad got the idea and smeared his hand across his own cheek; it came back black with make-up. That done, he took a deep breath. "You've no right to hold him. You need the authority of the Grand High Vampire." He stood up straighter, "Me." Because he was, technically.

"Don't be ridiculous," the second vampire laughed, "who would submit to the authority of a woman?" He could see Ingrid balling her hands into fists at her side.

"You'll just have to get used to it," he said. If it wasn't him they ended up taking orders from, it would be Ingrid. He was sure of it.

"Unlicensed use of curses in a residential area," the third vampire shook his head, reading from the scroll in his hand. "Aiding and abetting an appropriation of the Crown from its rightful owner."

"I am its rightful owner!" Vlad protested as Ingrid was cuffed, struggling and snarling, and pushed to her knees next to the Count.

"We are acting on the authority of the minority Council," the eldest spoke again. "You have three days to contest the decision." Before he had chance to ask anything else there was the sound of rushing air and all five had disappeared.

* * *

"Mira, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Branagh asked, tone concerned when she opened the door. Vlad nodded, in spite of the trembling in his fingers.

"I need to see Robin."

"Okay." Mrs. Branagh had barely finished the word by the time he was on the landing, banging against Robin's bedroom door.

Robin opened it cautiously, eyeing him up with a fearful gaze.

"There's no time to talk about it now," he said, putting a hand up to stop Robin talking, "we have to find a way to reverse it. And fast."

He paused for a moment, glancing down the corridor. "We're going to need extra help."

* * *

"I can't believe you were so stupid," Chloe said scouring through a heavy tome.

"Trust me," he snapped, careful to keep his voice quiet enough to prevent Robin from hearing on the other side of the library, "there's nothing you can say that I haven't already thought of myself."

He threw the book in his hands down onto the table in frustration. He was never going to find anything. And Robin was having no luck finding a legal loophole. That's what he'd told Chloe anyway, refusing to be within ten feet of him. He scrubbed his hands across his face and spent a moment just feeling sorry for himself.

"Where is the original cantation?" Chloe asked, interrupting it. At his blank look she sighed, "the words you said to do this."

"Oh," he rooted through the pile of books thrown haphazardly on the table and handed her the one that had started the whole sorry affair. Chloe flicked through it, quickly finding the offending page.

She 'hmm'ed and 'tutt'ed as she scanned it, then glared up at him. "You really are an idiot," she jabbed a finger at the notation in the margin, "there is even a warning against it."

"Sorry if I don't speak riddle," Vlad scowled, feeling on edge.

"Don't you get it, Vlad? 'For dreams bring nightmares to the fore.'" She explained impatiently, "Be careful what you wish for? Nothing can be solved that way." She scanned the page again, then held the book out to him. "It's very simple."

"Well it is now!" He conceded, wondering why they were wasting time on some useless graffiti.

"Say it backwards, and it will be undone." She went on, oblivious to his gaping, "You're lucky one more day and you would have been stuck like it forever. I don't know why you didn't just bring it to me in the first place."

Vlad flung his arms around her, "Thank you!"

* * *

It felt like hot knives ripping into his flesh. Or, at least, how he imagined hot knives ripping into his flesh would feel. His legs gave way and he was dimly aware of someone supporting him, lowering him carefully, and stroking at his hair as he flailed in pain.

When he finally managed to get his eyes open he was surprised to find he was lying on his own bed, Robin on the floor against it. His head was resting against the mattress, his hand curled loosely in his own. Vlad swallowed, not entirely sure he wanted to move and lose the moment forever.

Fate was never on his side. Robin opened his eyes, huge and almost black in the dim light, but he didn't let go of his own hand. "Vlad?" He croaked, voice roughened with sleep.

"What happened?"

"I thought you were dying," Robin said quietly, looking away. "You were screaming and screaming."

Vlad tightened his grip on Robin's hand in reassurance. "Hey, I'm okay."

Robin nodded, although he still looked shaken up. "The Council people came back; they said they'll release them," he hooked the fingers of his free hand in the air, "at the hour before dawn as is our honoured custom and tradition." He offered Vlad a wan smile, "They couldn't really argue once they'd got a look at you."

Vlad patted his hands down his sides in sudden realisation. It had worked. It had really worked! He looked back at Robin and the happiness fled. It would be so much harder now. Now that he knew what Robin tasted like, the feel of Robin's teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

"I'm really sorry about earlier," he forced out, not able to look Robin in the eye, "I should have stopped you." He didn't need to ask Robin if he knew how he felt about him; the look in Robin's eyes told him he was well aware of Vlad's feelings.

Robin shifted to sit on the bed, facing Vlad, their hands still entwined. "I really _really_ fancied you Vlad," he started awkwardly. Vlad shut his eyes, not wanting to face what was coming. Robin went on, "I couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop looking at you. Earlier," he cleared his throat, "I've never felt like that before. I-"

He hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words, "But then it hit me. I was kissing _you_ and it was all wrong."

Vlad screwed up his face, pressing the heel of his free hand into his eyes viciously, mortified at the hot tears he could feel trickling down his face.

"Vlad," Robin sounded worried, "Vlad, don't cry." Robin's arms wrapped around him and he could do nothing but sob harder. Robin's hand curled in his hair, stroking it. "Please don't cry."

He clutched his fingers into the material of Robin's shirt tighter, throat too choked up to form words.

"I just couldn't keep doing it," Robin started babbling, "because it was you but it wasn't. I realised I didn't want to be kissing some half-version of you. I don't want a girlfriend." He pushed Vlad back slightly then, framing his face in his hands, "I want you."

Vlad scarcely had time to process the words before Robin was kissing him again, soft and tender this time. When he pulled away Robin looked at him nervously, and Vlad realised he was waiting for his answer. His verdict.

"Robin," he grinned, even though his eyelashes were still full of tears, "Kiss me again."

Robin beamed in relief and complied.

* * *

**Epilogue.**

"What do you want?" Ingrid asked viciously, not turning to look at him.

"I-" he hesitated, not sure how Ingrid would react, "I want you to have this."

Ingrid looked up at him then and snatched the envelope from his hands. She frowned hit tore it open, unfolding the documents within.

She stared up at him in shock. "You're signing over your inheritance to me?"

He nodded, shifting a little under her close scrutiny. "I don't need it. I've got what I wanted." He smiled slightly, thinking of Robin. "I can't help that I'm the Grand High Vampire," he went on quietly, "but I promise that, when I stand on the Council, I'll change things."

Ingrid gave him a searching look before a smile broke across her face, the same one he had seen that day she had said she'd help him, and he smiled back.

"Dad will even have to make an effort now. Or he'll end up homeless when I turn sixteen."

Ingrid grinned wider,

"I never thought I'd say this but, sometimes, you're almost bearable."

"Thanks Sis."

They both laughed and, he thought happily, sometimes you didn't need black magic for wishes to come true.


	100. Chapter 100

_**Reposting from the main archive. I wrote this for the 2010 lgbtfest on Livejournal. The prompt was: #408 ~ Any teen fandom, any character, a character expects hir parents to be upset, and isn't sure how to deal with them being a little *too* supportive.**_

* * *

"Just tell him you're gay."

"Just tell him I'm gay," Vlad repeated incredulously, shaking his head. "Yeah, because that's a _brilliant_ idea."

Robin shrugged, not looking away from the computer screen, thumbs pummelling at the control pad as if his life depended on it. It summed it up, Vlad thought, the indifference. His entire life was about to fall apart and Robin couldn't give a toss.

"You'll have to tell him at some point," Robin said, grimacing as the pixellated enemy advanced. "Might as well be now."

"I _can't_," Vlad protested. He'd kept it quiet for a very good reason: His dad would kill him.

"You told me," Robin countered.

That had been bad enough. Robin gaping at him as if he'd just said he was growing a second head out of his armpit. If it weren't for the realisation that he was no longer a competitor for the attention of the female student body, Vlad got the impression Robin might still be giving him the cold shoulder, even now.

There was a crash on the television and Robin threw the pad down in disgust, 'game over' flashing across the screen. He finally got Robin's focussed attention and he had to concentrate on keeping his mind on the issue at hand.

Or, at the very least, something other than Robin's eyes.

"It's simple, Vlad," Robin told him, slouching back against his pillows. "You either tell him or you get married. It's up to you." Robin grinned then, cheeks dimpling, "But, if you do, I have to be your best man."

Vlad frowned. He hadn't even thought that far.

Robin was oblivious.

"Cos, if I'm best man, I'll have to sleep with the bridesmaid. It's tradition. An' she's bound to be a _fit_ vampiress."

And that, Vlad thought, decided it.

* * *

"Ah, Vlad, there you are!"

Vlad cringed, but pasted on a false smile for the Count.

"Don't do that," the Count admonished, "not when you pout so prettily. You don't want Adrianna to get the wrong impression, do you?"

That was a perfect in, and he knew it. Vlad sucked in a deep breath. He was the Chosen One, the vampire destined to lead the entire race into a new age. And captain of the rugby team. The B team, anyway.

He could totally do this.

"Actually dad, I, er, wanted to have a word with you about that."

"Not having jitters, are you?" The Count waved one hand dismissively, "You'll be fine once you're at the altar."

Ingrid snorted in amusement, shaking her head as she turned the page of her latest copy of _Gothmopolitan_. Vlad ploughed ahead,

"I was just thinking that, you know maybe, I mean – " He swallowed, "Don't you think I should meet her first? And, I'm not even a proper vampire yet. What if something happens? You know the law; she won't be able to remarry for years."

The Count stared at him in shock, as if he had never really seen him before. Vlad squirmed. His dad put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close and speaking in slow, hushed tones.

"I thought you understood, Vlad. That's the whole point. Your sister," he paused at this, waving an arm in Ingrid's general direction, "and her spawn are bleeding me dry. Money doesn't grow on headstones." The Count straightened up, eyes flashing. "Adrianna's dowry could secure her anyone. But, even if some _unfortunate_ mishap should befall you in the blood mirror room," the Count grinned widely, "I'd still get to keep the money."

Vlad didn't know what to say. Luckily the Count was happy to fill the silence, clapping his hands together.

"And then we can get your sister married off and out of my castle." He wiped at his eyes, "It'll be the happiest day of my unlife."

Ingrid was on her feet in an instant, fangs bared. "You've already tried that once. I am the Countess Dracula. I am not marrying some, some_yokel_ from Trans-Siberia!"

"You and your," the Count looked pointedly at the foot long coffin laid across the end of the table, "mongrel will do as I decree!"

"Over my dead body!"

"Exactly!"

Vlad sighed, traipsing up to his room. He wouldn't get anything approaching sense out of either of them until morning.

* * *

"So," Robin prompted in their afternoon English lesson the following day, "What did he say? You're still here so it can't have been that awful."

Vlad shrugged as casually as he could, keeping his gaze on his exercise book. Robin wasn't fooled, raising one eyebrow, one step away from outright tutting.

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

"I _tried_," Vlad protested, "I really did. But he started going on about how much we need the money. And this morning he had another go about how it'll bring shame to the Dracula family name if I don't hitch up with someone suitable. He's going to go mad."

"Vladimir! Robin!" Miss. Vickers' voice carried across the room, "You two had better be working."

Robin bowed his head, making a show of writing something before leaning in closer to whisper, "Would it really be that bad if you did marry her? She _is_ fit."

"To you!" Vlad hissed, angry to feel the sting of tears burning behind his eyelids. He didn't want anything to do with her, or any vampiress. Most of the time he was convinced he didn't want anything to do with _anyone_ but Robin.

He glanced up to make sure Miss. Vickers wasn't looking. She wasn't, she was too busy trying to explain alliteration to Richard Price. Knowing Price as he did, there was a good chance that would keep her occupied all lesson.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? But I just don't know what to do."

"You might like her once you get to know her," Robin suggested, although there was real concern behind the encouraging tone.

Vlad shook his head. "She's _two__hundred_ years old. Her claim to fame is wiping out an entire battalion of men during World War One."

"Really?" Robin asked, not sounding as put off as Vlad thought he should.

"Oi, Count," a voice sounded behind them. Vlad patted a hand to the back of his head to fend off the accompanying piece of screwed up paper catapulted his way. "Stop chatting up your boyfriend and pass me that glue."

Vlad scowled at Davis but slapped the glue down onto his desk.

"An' I'm not his boyfriend," Robin pointed out, expression sour.

Davis looked at the boy next to him, the pair of them sniggering. "That's not what I've heard, Branagh."

"Boys!" Miss. Vickers yelled, forcing Vlad and Robin to face the front once more. "How many more times!"

Robin scowled but picked up his pen, finally doing some work. Vlad just stared at the blank page in front of him and wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

He had a plan.

* * *

"No." Robin shook his head. "No way. Not in a million years."

"_Please_ Robin," Vlad pleaded. "Don't you see? This is the perfect way out of it. My dad already likes you, he's said so."

"He's said he wants to drain my blood and leave my lifeless body for the ravenous badgers," Robin quoted. "It's not quite the same thing."

"Come on," Vlad whined. "You did it for Ingrid."

Robin couldn't deny that. He'd barely known either of them and he'd happily donned fangs and face paint, letting his dad put him through all the courtship trials to save Ingrid from some half baked idiot from Trans-Siberia. _He_ was Robin's best friend, the least Robin could do was pretend to be his boyfriend for a few weeks.

Wasn't it?

"That was different!" Robin flung his arms wide in exasperation, oblivious to the curious stares of the students trickling past them on their way home. "Ingrid is hot! If I do this none of the girls will even look at me."

"They don't now," Vlad countered nastily, wanting revenge for the casual way Robin always compared him unfavourably to his sister. _She_would never look at Robin twice and everyone knew it.

Robin narrowed his eyes, "They're just playing hard to get."

"Well, they'll be jealous then, won't they?" Vlad changed tact, desperation colouring his tone. "If they think you've pulled me."

"No," Robin shook his head, "they won't. Trust me."

"I'm a good catch!" Vlad counted off his good points on his fingers, "I've got money, I live in a castle, I'm captain of the rugby team - "

"The B team," Robin corrected, using his own fingers to counter Vlad's points. "You're a proper swot, you've got no dress sense, you _still_ carry that briefcase to school. Basically, Vlad, everyone thinks you're a total loser."

"I'd do it for you," Vlad said quietly, looking at his feet. He'd do anything for Robin.

Robin sighed, running one hand through his hair. "Yeah, I bet you would."

Vlad glanced up at him curiously but the other boy wasn't looking his way. When he turned to face him his jaw was set determinedly.

"What's in it for me?"

* * *

"It's beautiful," Robin breathed, running one hand along the lip of the coffin. "Mahogany with ebony inlay, satin interior. Beautiful."

"Yeah," Vlad pulled a face, wondering what Mr. Branagh would say when she found it taking up all of Robin's floor space. "Great. So now it's time for your side of the bargain."

Robin gave the coffin one last lingering look before straightening up, smoothing down the collar of his jacket and the creases from his t-shirt. "Right, come on then. Your dad should be awake by now."

"What?" Vlad felt his heart pounding in his chest, his palms suddenly sweaty. "Just like that?"

"Might as well get it over with," Robin shrugged.

"Can't – " Vlad scrabbled for something to delay Robin with. "Can't we have a practice run first? We could tell your mum and dad."

"What's the point in that?" Robin protested. "They won't care."

Vlad thought of the way Mrs. Branagh had been cooing at baby clothes through shop windows in town the previous Saturday. He wasn't convinced.

Robin read the uncertainty on his face. "I think I know my mam and dad a lot better than you do."

"I just don't think they'll be very happy about it, that's all."

"We'll see," Robin scoffed. "We'll see."

* * *

"Oh, Robin," Mrs. Branagh got up from the table and pulled him into a hug, "I'm so proud of you!"

"We thought you'd never tell us," Mr. Branagh said, beaming all across his face.

Mrs. Branagh pressed a kiss to Robin's hair, oblivious to the way he was struggling to get free. "We've always known, haven't we, Graham?"

"We have," Ian agreed for him.

"Everyone knew," Paul smirked.

"Just geroff me!" Robin protested, squirming free.

"Vlad," Mrs. Branagh turned her attention to him, "We're so happy for you. I bet your father is pleased too, isn't he? We'll have to have a little celebration. Do you think your father will be free this weekend? I could ring him now –"

"No!"

Everyone turned to stare at Vlad, silence falling. Vlad bit at his lip, feeling sick. Never had he been more aware of the differences between their two families. His dad would never react like this to the news. Never.

"He doesn't know." Vlad scuffed the toe of his shoe against the tiled kitchen floor, stomach churning. "He – he wouldn't approve."

"He's marrying him off to some bird from Romania," Paul chipped in. "Ingrid told me."

Mrs. Branagh looked like she might cry. "I'm sure if you explained how you feel, Vlad. And," she touched a hand to Robin's shoulder, "once he realises you're with _Robin_."

Chloe, who had been silent all the way through, shot Vlad an apologetic look,

"I see your point."

* * *

"You _can't_ change your mind now, Vlad," Robin told him testily once they were back upstairs in his bedroom. "I won't let you. Do you have any idea how crap my life is going to be from now on?"

Vlad just looked at his hands, wringing them together.

"I'll tell you. It's going to be really crap. Ian and Paul are going to take the mick out of me every single day. An' my mam an' dad are going to tell everyone they've ever met in their entire lives how proud they are of their gay son an' his _boyfriend_."

Robin's tone was getting increasingly irate and Vlad wished he'd never mentioned the idea in the first place. It had been utterly ridiculous, right from the very beginning. "People will forget about it," Vlad ventured finally.

"Yeah, when I'm dead," Robin spat back. "The coffin was a good move really. It'll save my mam some money."

"Don't joke about things like that!" Vlad demanded, fear thrumming in his veins at the idea of Robin dying. Robin gave him an appraising look then, dark and intense, making Vlad uncomfortable. Whatever Robin saw in his face was enough to drain his anger away however, and he dropped down to sit next to him on the bed.

"You have to tell him, Vlad."

The words were quiet but solemn and Vlad nodded miserably. "I know. And I will. But not tonight." He gave Robin a forced half smile, willing him to drop it. "I was supposed to be sleeping over tonight anyway. It's Saturday tomorrow."

He had been sleeping over at Robin's every Friday for months. It was the only time his dad willingly let him out of his sight after dark. It was always hunting practice, or wedding preparations or, worst of all, rambling tales of the havoc he had wrecked in his own youth. Vlad felt guilty if he took his library books back a day late.

Robin sighed. "Why didn't you ask Chloe to help you? She probably would 'ave thought of something really foolproof."

Vlad met his best friend's gaze, his breathing sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room. Robin was sat so close he could feel the heat of his thigh through his jeans and, when he inhaled, all he could smell was the scent of Robin's aftershave.

"Why did you agree to do it?"

He waited, heart pounding, for Robin's response. Watching a mix of emotions flit across his face and the way he swiped his tongue across his lips, getting ready to speak. He was just about to when there was a knock at the door, Mr. Branagh's voice muffled through the door.

"Are you two decent in there? Can I have a word?"

Robin shut his eyes for a moment, as if reigning in his temper before getting up and letting his father in. Mr. Branagh was blushing to the edges of his receding hairline, pressing a paper bag emblazoned with the label of the local chemist into Robin's hands, stuttering things like 'better safe than sorry', 'there's no rush' and 'if you have any questions, your mother's downstairs'.

"You owe me so much right now, Vlad," Robin hissed the instant he was gone, his own cheeks burning brightly in embarrassment. "So much."

Vlad just bit back a smile and nodded solemnly.

"I know."

* * *

"Do you find it hard to sleep in these?" Robin asked into the darkness later on that night. Vlad smiled, cheek pressed against Robin's pillow, and tried to make out the outline of the coffin in the slivers of moonlight making their way around the curtains.

"Yeah, it's a bit claustrophobic. You do get used to it though."

He could hear Robin shifting around, the sound of scuffling, but was still shocked to feel the bed dip, Robin collapsing next to him in a tangle of limbs.

"Shift over then, it's my bed."

Vlad wished he could see Robin's face, to try and work out what was going through the other boy's head. Robin wriggled about, tugging at the blankets, and he felt him lay his head next to his own.

"Do you want me to sleep in there instead?" Vlad offered, hoping desperately Robin would say no. He could feel Robin's breath against his cheek. If he were to turn his head they would be close enough to kiss.

"It's alright," Robin told him, seeming to press still closer as he moved about, getting comfortable. "I know you don't like it."

Vlad wanted to ask him what was going on, why they were suddenly sharing a bed. If it meant anything at all to Robin. Fear of what the answer might be kept him quiet and, by the time he'd worked up the courage, Robin was already snoring.

* * *

When Vlad woke up it took a moment to work out where he was. What the heavy pressure on his chest and the seeping moisture at his neck was. Then Robin shifted and he could breathe once more, reaching one hand up to swipe at the drool pooling along his collar bone with a grimace.

"What time is it?" Robin groaned, stretching. "Is breakfast ready yet?"

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not psychic!"

"You've got a better sense of smell than me," Robin told him calmly, scrubbing at his eyes and clambering over Vlad in search for his clothes.

The whole situation struck him as more than slightly surreal. Still, Vlad sniffed the air and nodded. "Bacon and eggs. Your favourite."

Robin grinned at him, clapping his shoulder and handing him his shirt. "Awesome."

Mr. Branagh glanced at his watch in mock shock when they got downstairs, folding his newspaper. "Robin, are you ill? It's not even midday yet!"

Robin sneered in response and slouched into a seat, attacking the food in front of him with gusto. Vlad picked at his own breakfast, the thought of going back to the castle ruining his appetite. Mrs. Branagh noticed,

"Everything will work out, Vlad, you'll see," she told him kindly. "Would you like us to have a word with your father?"

"Make him see sense," Mr. Branagh added. "This is twenty-first century Britain, not fifteenth century Transylvania!"

Vlad choked on a mouthful of bacon and Robin slapped him across the back. Hard. His eyes were streaming, coughing fit full blown, and Mrs. Branagh rushed to get him some water. Mr. Branagh gave him a concerned look and Vlad wished he could explain.

'Just try telling that to my dad.'

* * *

"How long will we 'ave to keep it up for, do you reckon?" Robin asked as they walked up to the hill towards the castle. "Days? Weeks? Months?" He gave him a wide eyed look, "Years?"

"No," Vlad shook his head. "I don't know. We'll worry about that when we get to it."

Robin was silent for a few steps, and then the questions started again. "Will we have to hold hands an' stuff? You know, in public?"

"Not if you don't want to." Vlad wished Robin would stop asking awkward questions. He wanted to enjoy his last moments of breathing.

"I expect we'll have to go on dates, won't we? There's a new horror film showing at the cinema. An' we could get a burger afterwards."

Vlad frowned at him, patience wearing thin. "Anyone'd think you _want_ to go out with me."

Robin shrugged, looking sheepish. "I just haven't had a girlfriend before." Vlad glared and he backtracked quickly, "Boyfriend. Whatever. I just –" Robin hesitated and Vlad watched him curiously, taking in Robin's uncharacteristic reticence to speak his mind. For a moment it looked as though Robin were going to say something serious but then a change fell over his features, and he was grinning widely instead. "It's just that I'd obviously be an amazing boyfriend. I've got to make sure everyone sees it."

"Yeah," Vlad scoffed, walking the last few steps to the doorway and unlocking the front door, biting back an undignified squeal of shock at the sight that met him,

"Granny Westenra!"

* * *

"Granny Westenra," Vlad tried again, hoping his tone was less horrified this time around, "What are you doing here?"

The old vampiress pursed her lips, glaring down her hooked nose at him. "I'm here to make sure you don't mess things up! I had to pull a lot of strings to get this marriage arranged. Even with your title, you're still," she paused, sweeping a disgusted look over him, "_you_."

"He is captain of the rugby team," Robin offered.

Granny Westenra looked, if possible, even more revolted. "What is _this_? It had better be dinner."

Robin blanched and Vlad took a step closer to him, protectively, he thought with a hint of pride. "This is Robin. He's my best friend."

"It just gets worse!" Granny Westenra complained, but gestured for the two of them to sit at the dining table. Vlad looked around hopefully for his father, trying to catch Ingrid's eye for help. She just smirked at him in obvious amusement.

"Right, well then," Granny Westenra started, sitting rigidly straight in the chair opposite Vlad, "let's start at the beginning. Do you know how to entertain a vampiress?"

Vlad felt a blush work its way down his neck, and shifted uncomfortably. "We watched a video on it once. And we learned about it in biology."

Ingrid started laughing. "Don't be so repulsive! She means are you accomplished, zombie snot? Can you sing, dance, play games? Call of Duty doesn't count."

"Oh, er," Vlad floundered, "I'm pretty good at Sluedo."

Granny Westenra did not look impressed.

"How about your torture skills? When was the last time you flayed a man to within an inch of his life?"

"Er – "

"No, nevermind," Granny Westenra shook her head. "Still, seeing as you've brought along your little _friend_, you can practice on him. Ingrid! Be a dear and fetch me my thumbscrews."

"Th-thumbscrews?" Robin squeaked.

"I don't think that's really necessary, Granny," Vlad stuttered.

"Oh, go on," Ingrid encouraged, setting the contraption down on the table in front of him. "I've always wanted to see Branagh writhing in agony."

"Is that the time!" Robin interrupted, stumbling to his feet, chair clattering noisily behind him. Come on Vlad, we'll miss that film if we don't hurry. That one with all the guts and gore you like so much."

"Yeah!" Vlad latched on to the topic gratefully. "That'll be brilliant practice." He backed towards the door. "Tell dad I'll have a go at biting tomorrow night."

His heart rate didn't return to something approaching normal until they were clear of the driveway and halfway down the hill.

* * *

"I haven't actually got any money on me," Vlad apologised once they were in town. "But I don't mind if you still want to go. I can go to the park."

Robin gave him a scolding look, "Vlad, don't be such an idiot. I know it's difficult for you." Vlad glared, but Robin just carried on, "I said I'd take you on a date, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Vlad conceded, "But I thought you were taking the mick."

"An' this is the thanks I get," Robin complained in a world weary tone.

The film was as disgusting as he'd known it would be; blood and guts and people getting decapitated left, right and centre. But Robin kept up a running commentary all the way through, pointing out the continuity errors and laughing at the over blown death sequences.

Once, when he jumped at a particularly gruesome shot of carnage, Robin giggled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, telling him not to be such a baby. When the scene finished he didn't remove it and Vlad leaned against him, flicking popcorn into his hair in retaliation and steadfastly refusing to think past the end of the picture.

Afterwards Robin was true to his word and took him to the nearest fast food joint, doing his best to ignore the sniggering they earned from a group of their classmates sat in the corner.

"I saw your brother earlier, Branagh," Richard Price smirked at them, glancing back at his friends to make sure they were watching. "You've been lying to us, about you an' him." Price sneered at Vlad then, and Vlad found himself dropping his gaze. Robin would never forgive him for this.

Instead of arguing back, as Vlad had been expecting, Robin looked Price up and down impassively. "Yeah. What of it?"

Price looked about as shocked as Vlad felt. "What, you ain't denying it? Count's your boyfriend?"

Vlad startled at the feel of warm fingers entwining with his own, looking wide eyed from their newly linked hands to Price's expression of disbelief. He could empathise.

"Yeah, he is. Now shove off."

With that Robin took the food from the counter and dragged Vlad towards the door,

"Quick, before he smashes our faces in!"

* * *

"You didn't have to say that to him," Vlad said later, when they were sat on the swings in Stokely park eating. Robin turned to look at him, the chains creaking and Vlad smiled. "But I'm really glad you did. Thanks."

"It's alright," Robin shrugged, although Vlad could see the hint of a blush in his pale cheeks. "Next time he's threatening to kick my face in I'll send him your way."

"I'm being serious, Robin."

"So am I."

Vlad shook his head and carried on eating, watching as Robin scuffed his feet back and fore with the motion of the swing. Mr. Branagh always joked that was why they never took Robin anywhere; he ate like a pig then fidgeted and complained for the rest of the evening. Vlad was sure he wouldn't have long to wait for the latter.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Robin asked suddenly, carefully avoiding his gaze. "Apart from Price, like."

"Yeah." He could say more, Vlad thought. How great it had been to have Robin's undivided attention, and how it had felt to have his arm wrapped around him. But he didn't want to freak Robin out so he all he said was, "Why?"

"See, that's what I don't understand," Robin said as if he hadn't heard his question. "I'm not that bad. Why am I always everyone's last resort?"

Before Vlad could answer the other boy was on his feet, hands pushed into his pockets as he strode towards the gate. Vlad scurried to catch up with him, pausing only to dump their rubbish into the nearest bin.

"Hey, wait up!" He demanded breathlessly as he fell into step beside Robin. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing," Robin snapped but his voice sounded choked. Vlad decided he wasn't going to let it lie.

"You've never been my last resort," Vlad told him stubbornly. "You're my best mate."

"Only because you don't know anyone else," Robin countered, biting at his lip. "If you'd've met Jonno first you'd have been best friends with him."

"Yeah," Vlad grinned, trying to lighten the mood, "and just think, I wouldn't even have to worry about my best capes going missing."

Robin didn't laugh.

Vlad felt sick. This wasn't like Robin. Robin bragged and boasted and bluffed, that was the sort of person he was. For him to be so _serious_there had to be something wrong. "I'm not laughing at you. I really appreciate your help."

"Yeah, I know," Robin said stiffly. "Just forget I said anything."

They had passed Robin's street now and Vlad was tempted to tell Robin he didn't need to be walked home; he was a big boy now. One look at Robin's face convinced him to keep his mouth shut.

The last thing he wanted was to make the situation any worse.

* * *

"Right, well," Robin murmured when they reached the castle door, "I'll be off then."

"Robin," Vlad called, reaching one hand out to stop him. Robin eyed it up where it rested against his forearm and Vlad swallowed thickly, forcing himself to ignore it and keep talking. "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong? If it's about Price I'll – I'll tell everyone you were joking."

"It's not about Price."

Vlad waited expectantly, hyper aware of the fact Robin had yet to shrug his hand away. Robin looked out into the middle distance, eyes suspiciously bright.

"I got into bed with you last night. An' I put my arm round you at the pictures. You haven't even said anything about it."

"What did you want me to say about it?" Vlad asked, frowning. He had no idea what Robin was trying to get at. He wasn't about to make Robin stop doing it, not even if it did sting to know the other boy hadn't meant it in the way he wanted him to.

His hand was finally brushed aside at that, Robin scowling. "If you can't see how fit I am, then I don't even want to be with you. I wouldn't have agreed if I'd known you weren't serious."

"But what about all the hot girls?" Vlad questioned, unable to stop himself from breaking into a huge gormless grin. It was too good to be true. "What will they think?"

Robin studied his face then, a smile slowly transforming his own maudlin expression. "They had their chance, didn't they?"

"They won't get another one," Vlad told him confidently, belying the frantic pounding of his heart against his ribcage. The fluttering in his stomach when Robin slid one hand along his jaw, pushing his fingers into his hair as he pressed their lips together. Vlad pushed closer Robin deepened the kiss, the wet slick of tongue against his own making him feel light headed.

He curled his own fingers into Robin's hair, doing his best to copy Robin, angling his head so he could kiss him with greater ease. Robin clutched him still tighter, showing no signs of coming up for air. In fact were it not for the impatient coughing behind them Vlad felt as if he could kiss Robin all night.

The cough came again and this time it registered properly, Vlad breaking away guiltily.

"_What_ is going on here?"

"Granny Westenra," Vlad grimaced.

"_Where_ have you been?"

Vlad cringed, eyeing up the dead rabbit hanging from the Count's fingers. Missing biting practice would not have made him any more popular. "Dad."

"Branagh? You _must_ be desperate."

"Ingrid," Vlad glared. Even the baby was gurgling happily at him. She took after her mother.

The Count looked murderous, "What would Adrianna say if she could see you swapping spit with this peasant?"

"It's not what it looks like," Vlad protested, even as Robin scowled at him. "I was, I mean we were, I mean – "

"You mean you're turning down the most desirable vampiress on the circuit in favour of that halfwit." Ingrid raised an eyebrow, "I never credited you with a backbone. I must say I'm impressed."

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," Granny Westenra snapped, "Even your brother couldn't be that stupid."

That was just a step too far, Vlad thought angrily, noticing the way Robin looked at his feet. He wasn't stupid, and Robin wasn't a halfwit. Most of the time anyway.

"No, she's right. I'm not going to marry Adrianna. Not now, not ever. I don't like girls." There, he'd said it. Robin put a hand on his shoulder and he shot him a grateful smile, waiting for his family's reaction.

Granny Westenra pulled a face, "Adrianna is not a girl, you dribbling imbecile. She is a blue blooded vampiress."

"Well," Vlad retorted, "I don't like blue blooded vampiresses either." Granny Westenra looked like she wouldn't mind wringing his neck. Ingrid just smirked, watching the scene unfold as close to happily as she ever got. "Dad," he prompted reluctantly after a long moment of silence, "are you mad at me?"

"What?" The Count startled out of whatever reverie he had been lost in. "Mad? No, of course not. This is excellent news!" He shook his head, "You won't have to worry about some harpy getting her claws into you, telling you you're her one and only, only to leave you at the first opportunity for some mangy flea ridden werewolf named Patrick!" His voice had risen throughout the speech to end on a yell, and Vlad shifted uncomfortably.

He didn't want yet another lecture about how awful his mother was. He _knew_.

Granny Westenra 'hmmed' but made no effort to correct the Count. "It _will_ make things easier, I suppose. Vampires have such lower standards."

"Excellent!" The Count clapped his hands together. "That's decided then. First thing tomorrow evening we'll start looking for a consort for you."

"But – "

"No," the Count patted Vlad on the shoulder, "don't thank me now, Vlad. There'll be plenty of time for that." He led the way into the castle then, Granny Westenra following. Ingrid looked from Vlad to Robin and back again, smirking widely,

"Better luck next time. Losers."


	101. Chapter 101

_**Repost from main archive. Mr. Branagh accuses the Count of losing his touch when it comes to seduction. The Count sets out to prove he's just as irresistible as he ever was...**_

* * *

"Well, well. That was impressive, wasn't it?"

"What do you want?" The Count snarled at the sight of Mr. Branagh's smug face, moving over to the kitchen's small sink. He hated going to these stupid breather events, if it weren't for Vlad… He twisted the tap on viciously. You'd think she'd be _glad_ he had offered to help with the fundraising.

With her looks £10 was a very generous offer.

The Count sighed, touching his fingers to his swollen cheek. So Miss. Davies had slapped him across the face, it was a front; _nobody_ was immune to the Dracula charm.

Mr. Branagh seemed to think otherwise.

"You must be a little too old for her."

"She was playing hard to get!" The Count hissed, pressing a wad of wet tissues to the welt.

"Face it; you're losing your touch," Mr. Branagh said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter.

The Count resisted the urge to wrench said arms from their sockets and stick them where the sun didn't shine.

"I could seduce anyone! _Anyone_!"

"Really?" Mr. Branagh asked. "How much would you be willing to wager on it?"

"Ten, no, twenty," the Count snarled at Mr. Branagh's raised eyebrow, "fine, _fifty_ of your peasant pounds."

"Anyone, you say?"

"Yes, anyone!"

Mrs. Branagh chose that moment to stick her head round the door and they both looked away guiltily. "Come on Graham, we'll miss _Gardener's __World_."

Mr. Branagh followed meekly, pausing at the threshold to hiss, "You're on".

* * *

"Oh, it's lovely to see you, Mr. Count. We're so sorry about the misunderstanding yesterday," Mrs. Davies jerked her head in the direction of her daughter. The Count waved at her and she glowered darkly. Mrs. Davies continued obliviously, "Patricia always jumps to conclusions."

The Count waved a hand in mock geniality, subtly rearranging his cape at the same time, so it showed off his cheekbones to their best advantage.

"Julie!" Mrs. Davies placed an apologetic hand on his arm, calling over to a girl attempting to barbecue someone's handbag. "Excuse me, Mr. Count. Help yourself to the food," She called over her shoulder.

Mr. Branagh used the opportunity to sidle closer. He had obviously come straight from a scout meeting, the Count thought, sneering at the sight of his bare knees. As he kept telling Vlad, there could be no respect for a man in shorts.

"Still on for our little bet, Mr. Count?"

"Naturally. I could have anyone here bending over _backwards_ for the chance to touch my lips."

"It has to be a proper kiss, mind."

The Count narrowed his eyes and reminded himself that Vlad would be very upset if he killed his breather friend's father. Although he wondered, as Mr. Branagh adjusted his woggle, if Vlad would be upset for so very long…

"So," the Count said in an attempt to avoid temptation, "who shall I seduce? Her?" He pointed at a girl barely older than Ingrid, with long, flowing, chestnut hair.

"Her?" He pointed at a woman of about 25 years, with a tight fitting pencil skirt and low-cut top.

"Her?" He pointed at Mrs. Branagh. At Mr. Branagh's glare, he went on, "No woman is unsusceptible to my roguish good looks."

"Ah, but, Mr. Count, where would the challenge be in that? If they just fall straight into your arms?"

The Count scowled, "Who would _you_ suggest then?"

Mr. Branagh's expression hardened. "I was thinking, oh, I don't know; Mr. Van Helsing."

"What! Are you mad!"

Mr. Branagh held a hand out, "Fifty pounds it is then."

"Fine!"

* * *

"So, peas – er, Eric, do you come here often?"

Jonno snorted and the Count glared. How dare the breather brat mock him!

"I _work_ here," Van Helsing frowned.

"Yes, of course." The Count flicked his hair and flashed his boyish smile, the one that had had all the silent movie starlets offering their services back in the day.

Van Helsing was singularly unaffected. He moved to leave and the Count caught sight of Branagh's smirking face.

"Wait!" He laid a hand on Van Helsing's arm, thinking desperately of something to say. He settled on, "How is my Vladdy doing at school?"

Van Helsing's lip curled in distaste. "Between them, your son and Robin Branagh cause more disruption than the rest of their year combined."

"Really?" The Count stood taller, chest swelled with pride.

"Is that all?" Van Helsing eyed him pointedly, removing the hand still lying on his arm. As he walked away the Count could hear Mr. Branagh actually _laughing_ at him.

* * *

"Dad. _Dad_. _**Dad**_!"

"Yes, Vlad?" The Count asked, not taking his gaze off Van Helsing. He would not lose a bet to that peasant; Van Helsing would succumb to his charm!

"You have to stop Ingrid, she keeps hypnotising the boys into thinking the rugby pitch is a swimming pool!" Vlad pointed over at the darkened field, the squirming figures of the rugby team trying to do butterfly stroke across the touch line just visible.

"Hypnotising… Vlad, you're a genius!"

Vlad was left standing in front of thin air. "Yeah, great, thanks, dad. I'll just sort it out myself then."

* * *

"Van Helsing."

The man in question looked up from where he was slathering ketchup on his burger. The Count fixed him with his hypnosis gaze,

"You want to kiss me. Desperately."

Mr. Branagh gave him a small wave, and the Count growled in annoyance, "Now!"

* * *

"Oh my God. Vlad, isn't that your dad?" Robin stuttered.

"And Mr. Van Helsing!" Chloe added, eyes wide.

Vlad turned just in time to see Van Helsing _snogging_ his dad, one hand on the back of his head, the other clutching at his cape.

Price even let up on the Chinese burn he was administering in retaliation for his muddy shirt to watch,

"So, that's where you get it from, eh, Count?"

* * *

"Dad!" Vlad protested, "_What_ are you doing?"

"Ah, Eric, you know my son?"

Van Helsing nodded, his eyes glazed. Vlad groaned: hypnosis.

The Count leant down to hiss in his ear, "That idiot father of your peasant friend owes me fifty pounds, Vlad! Ah, here he comes now."

Straightening up he said, "Mr. Branagh. What a pleasant surprise. What's this, fifty crisp British pounds for me? You shouldn't have." He grinned nastily; running the note under his nose like it was a fine cigar, before stuffing it into his waistcoat pocket.

"I don't know how you did it, Count. Something underhand, no doubt."

"Look at him," the Count gestured at Van Helsing who was staring glassy eyed at him, "he is simply enthralled by my ethereal beauty."

Mr. Branagh snorted. "He looks sickened if you ask me."

"Well I wasn't asking you, you disgusting peasant!"

"Come morning he'll be trying to forget this ever happened."

"How much do you want to bet?"

"Ten pounds."

"Make it twenty."

"Done."

"Done."

They both stormed off in opposite directions, Van Helsing trailing helplessly after the Count.

Vlad heaved a sigh and wished, not for the first time, that he could just lead a normal life…


	102. Chapter 102

_**Some angsty new fic…**_

It wasn't until Vlad went away that Robin truly realised how reliant he had become upon him. He no longer had a partner for games, and he quickly remembered how awful it was to have nobody to sit next to during lessons. When he tried to build bridges the others ignored him and, when the teachers' backs were turned, the popular kids thought nothing of laughing and shoving him in the corridors.

He comforted himself with the thought that Vlad must be missing him too, and waited impatiently for the letter to come through with Vlad's new address, or even better a phone number so he could hear the sound of Vlad's voice.

It never came, not even as weeks turned into months, and when he didn't have to be at school he locked himself in his room, because he couldn't bear to face anyone and see their pity, not even his own family.

One day he came home and wasn't given a choice, sat silent as their father gathered them all in the kitchen. His expression was grim, strained, and Robin's stomach churned when the realisation dawned that his dad, the man who stubbornly saw the sunny side of everything, was crying.

Their mother smiled, albeit wanly, and Robin didn't know what to do, or how to feel, when she told them quietly that the doctors had found it now, and that meant they would be able to start getting rid of it.

The twins threw themselves into their rugby training, and Chloe dealt with it by burying her head in her schoolwork. Robin supposed he wasn't coping with it at all, and gave up on everything, even his sketchbook, because it felt like so much effort when he could just sit and stare listlessly out of the window.

It got worse, instead of better, and though his mother laughed when she took the wig out of its box and said that she'd always wanted to try going brunette, Robin couldn't summon up a smile, and couldn't believe her, though he wanted to, when she sat beside him and said,

"Don't worry, Robin. Everything's going to be alright. I know it will."

It wasn't long after that that they made him go and see Mina Van Helsing, staring awkwardly at his feet as she tried to coax something that wasn't monosyballic out of him.

"Is there a friend you can talk to?" she asked, eventually, and Robin thought of Vlad. Of sleepovers, and laughter, and Vlad smiling at him as he said that they would be best friends forever. Aloud he said,

"No," and shook his head, finishing with, "there isn't anyone."

He got to see her, before the end, and she took his hand, and tried to smile, and said,

"Whatever you choose to do, I'll be proud of you. So long as you're happy, Robin."

The twins had each other at the service, and Chloe sobbed, clinging to their father. Robin sat on his own and refused to cry, though it felt like something was broken inside, and afterwards he lay on his bed for hours, wishing that he wasn't him, and that he just wasn't aware of what was happening.

Vlad did come back, eventually, looking almost exactly the same as he remembered though he more demanded than asked, and there was some girl Robin didn't recognise with him, who, he thought despondently, must have been his replacement.

"You have to help me," Vlad pleaded, and Robin just took a breath, knowing that he was letting her down, knowing that it wouldn't make him any happier, but met Vlad's eye all the same and said,

"There's no such thing as vampires."


	103. bertrand

Ingrid obviously knew enough to keep her thoughts hidden. The Count only ever revealed what he wanted to be seen. Renfield, frankly, wasn't worth reading.

Erin's thoughts were a mess, tumultuous emotion that blurred one into another, no different to the multitudes of breathers wandering the building. The control would come in time, he knew, though still he kept an eye on her, watched her day by day, waiting for some sign of it.

She wasn't why he was there though, and it served as nothing more than a diversion. He had trained and trained and trained, and waited and waited and waited. He had been unborn to serve, to perform his duty, and Vlad was his only concern. His pupil, his master, _the_ _Chosen __One_.

It surprised him, though he supposed it shouldn't, how unguarded Vlad's thoughts could be. Vlad didn't know how to project them, not yet, and they were all but impossible to breach, even without any training. But the thoughts which slipped through were often intimate, private, the kind of thing no vampire would share lest it leave them vulnerable.

Bertrand kept it to himself, the things he saw, as he didn't want Vlad to feel uncomfortable. Vlad needed to trust him, to learn from him, and it could only help if he knew whether Vlad was feeling upset, or lonely, or frustrated.

At least that's what he told himself.

Because it wasn't his place, to feel vanity. It wasn't his place to feel the spark of _something_ in his chest every time Vlad thought of him. To stare at the underside of his coffin lid and feel Vlad trying to figure him out, like he was important in his own right, not just a stepping stone in Vlad's journey.

And, so, he reasoned when he handed Vlad the tarot cards for yet another telepathy training session, it couldn't hurt if he were to keep silent for just a little longer.

Could it?


	104. Chapter 104

_**Some more S3 practice…**_

"Ugh!" Ingrid grimaced, spitting a half chewed chocolate into her hand. "Coffee borer!"

Vlad pulled a face of his own, watching as she proceeded to feed it to his half brother. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he said. "It's not good for him."

"He loves it," Ingrid countered, grinning, though whether it was at Wolfie's enthusiasm or the thought of the chocolate killing him, Vlad wouldn't like to venture. She scratched behind his ears, "Don't you, Wolfie?"

Wolfie wagged his tail and yapped in agreement.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Ingrid asked, settling back into her wheelchair. "Haven't you got anything else you could be doing? Running around the courtyard without an umbrella perhaps?"

"Haha," Vlad muttered, turning his back on her and trying to concentrate on the book Bertrand had left him with. The problem was that the script was small and cramped and squiggly, and the subject matter was mind numbing. Telepathy, telepathy, and more telepathy.

He was never going to get the hang of it, no matter how frequently Bertrand seemed determined to test him on it. For someone who claimed he had spent his unlife waiting to serve him, well, Bertrand wasn't exactly very accommodating.

Bertrand chose that moment to check up on him, Vlad sensing the movement of the air though the other vampire's tread was silent. Ingrid made his careful analysis completely unnecessary with,

"At last! I'm stuck in this chair, the least you can do is take him somewhere where I don't have to look at him."

"Why do I have to move?" Vlad shot back, unable to help himself. Bertrand gave him what he had rapidly come to think of as the pitying look. The look which said he should be able to conduct himself like a vampire ruler, and not a spoiled teenager.

"Because," Ingrid sighed, like she was stating the obvious, "you're ugly."

"It is time for your training session," Bertrand said, calmly, before Vlad had chance to be drawn into an argument.

Ingrid waved at them on their way out of the room, smirking. "Have fun, _Bertrand_."

"She doesn't mean it," Vlad said as they made their way down the darkened corridor. "It's just her way of being affectionate."

Bertrand met his gaze then and Vlad felt like he was getting somewhere, because Bertrand had hung about when Magda had given him his marching order. Like he was just waiting for the right moment to help him, like the older vampire was going to be his friend and not just his disapproving tutor, another vampire intent on telling him what to do and moulding him into something which, half the time, he wasn't all that sure he wanted to be anyway.

And, then, the moment was gone and Bertrand was striding forward with purpose,

"Vlad, you know it isn't proper for a vampire to be affectionate."


	105. Rules

"I thought vampires didn't play by the rules," Vlad said, clearly exasperated by his lack of progress.

Bertrand didn't know how best to respond. Being a vampire, in his experience had meant adhering to the edicts of the Council, and obeying the instructions of the Grand High Vampire. Doing what he was told and learning not to ask too many questions. Observing the unwritten rules of etiquette and endeavouring to stay on the right side of the argument.

In short, his _unlife_, had been all about following rules. About doing what was expected.

Fulfilling his destiny.

Aloud he said simply,

"To every rule there is an exception."

It played on his mind however, even as he sat cross legged across from Vlad, watching the array of emotion on Vlad's face as he attempted to levitate them both into the air. As he smiled at him in congratulations when the task was accomplished.

Because, this familiarity was not entirely proper, had never been anything he had allowed with those who had come before. The imposters.

Few of them had ever sought more from him than information, power. Where their conversation had dug, searching, Vlad's meandered, aimlessly, and one night, when Vlad sought out his advice in front of his family Ingrid raised an eyebrow, so that Bertrand could be left in no doubt as to whether or not she understood his situation.

Because, it was not right for him to presume so, and when Vlad failed to admonish him to further encourage it. To behave as though Vlad were his friend rather than his master, and to read anything into the errant thoughts Vlad was yet too unskilled to keep from him. The confusion, and the frustration, and beneath it all the loneliness that coiled around him until there were times he could not be certain where his own thoughts ended and Vlad's began.

He watched Vlad closely when they trained together, to try and catch a flash of recognition. To see reflected on Vlad's face the thoughts that plagued his mind. Some hint of the turmoil he felt night and day, of the painful wanting. Eventually he attempted to stop himself looking because he saw nothing, at least nothing conclusive.

If it were not Vlad, then it had to be himself, and he swore on all that he had ever held dear that he would never act on it, and sat on the cold floor of the room he had been ascribed to, taking far longer than he ought to find the composure needed to meditate.

For a time, he even thought it would be that simple.

But Magda saw through him still faster than her daughter, and he failed to keep his expression neutral when she told him to leave, her eyes boring into him, accusing. Threatening.

Vlad followed him, even after he had explained the reality of his position, and Bertrand touched his arm, wanting to be comforting though it could never be his place, and said,

"I am sorry, Vlad, but I am bound by the rules. You know that."

Vlad looked first to his hand, where it lay against his shirt sleeve, and then to his face, the atmosphere around them growing thicker and thicker. Bertrand waited, silent, and then Vlad turned away suddenly, the moment broken, though his voice was low and his tone determined,

"Sometimes, rules are only made to be broken."


	106. Chapter 106

_**For a friend, Alex worries about Vlad...**_

* * *

Alex McCauley couldn't help but worry about Vlad Count. She worried about him on his very first day, taking in his pale, wan face and too thin frame. And she worried about him months into the school year when he had still failed to settle in and make friends, and she came across Darren Hicks from form 11G attempting to shove him down the stairs.

She spoke to his form tutor and had a word with the school counsellor. She even arranged an appointment to speak with Vlad's father, though the man brushed off her concerns airily, seemingly unable to believe that Vlad might not be able to take care of himself.

It could backfire, she knew, but she tried talking to Vlad himself. Just to let him know that she was there, that her door would always be open to him. He looked at his feet, and down the corridor, anywhere but at her face and, though she could tell he had taken her words on board, she knew he would never act on them.

All she could do was keep an eye on him, wait and watch and hope that things would improve for a boy who was obviously struggling to reconcile pleasing his father with missing his old school friends. It was then she wondered about his mother, and the venom in Mr. Count's voice when she broached the subject told her that, however it had happened, it hadn't been amicable.

Vlad's obvious pall of misery was the reason she fought so hard, and so vocally to keep Mr. Count from taking the boy out of lessons entirely. She didn't doubt that the Count had Vlad's best interests at heart, but it would be Vlad who suffered in the long run. He couldn't hole himself up indefinitely in that darkened apartment, losing out on the day to day interaction she was convinced he needed to bring him out of his shell.

Mr. Count compromised, to her relief, and agreed to let her meet Vlad's new tutor. The man was charming, smiled at her, but it didn't meet his eyes and, when his gaze strayed away from her face, it made her skin crawl.

"I have trained for many years for this task," Bertrand told her, accent thickening with the intensity. "He is so far behind already."

"Vlad is a very capable student," she said in response, uncertain, for once, how best to phrase her next comment. "I feel what he needs more than anything is to have his confidence bolstered. Vlad's a very sensitive boy."

Bertrand stood, swept his notes together.

"He won't be when I've finished with him."

In the coming weeks Bertrand did nothing to improve her first impression of him. He was too hard on Vlad, had the poor boy working late into the night, so that he could barely stay awake during his timetabled lessons. What was worse was the power he seemed to hold over him, the way he could silence Vlad with a single look, haul him from whatever he was doing with little more than a click of his fingers.

It wasn't right. It wasn't something she was willing to see continue, in the grounds of her own school no less.

Vlad's mother saw it, for all her other faults, and Alex tried not to judge the other woman too much, not when she saw the look on Bertrand's face, the barely restrained fury as he hauled a case down a deserted corridor. It didn't last, couldn't, and Alex didn't miss the way Bertrand touched Vlad the following Monday, too close and too familiar.

She tried not to be hasty, and not to jump to conclusions. There were a myriad of innocent explanations, and then there were the cultural difference, but she ran into an old colleague at a seminar and he told her that, if anything, the relationship between student and_profesor_would only be more formal than she was accustomed to.

Vlad became quieter, more withdrawn than ever, and Alex demanded Mr. Count listen to her concerns, telling him that it wasn't so much the age difference as the fact that Bertrand was abusing his position.

"Don't be ridiculous," she got in answer, "I think I'd know if Bertrand was up to anything he shouldn't be. I am master in my own domain, you know."

Renfield, the Count's manservant, looked up at her from where he was shining Mr. Count's shoes and nodded, and she could see that she wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Bertand is exactly the sort of role model Vlad needs," Mr. Count went on, "he's cunning, bloodthirsty and, most of all," he met her gaze as she made to leave the room, some unknown emotion darkening his eyes, "he doesn't spend his time worrying about other people's _feelings_."

It left her with no choice, no other option, and she tracked Bertrand down to some dank underused room off the south wing of the building, pausing to simply watch him for a moment as he savoured a mouthful of the blood red wine in front of him.

"Can I help you?" he asked without opening his eyes. "I'm a very busy man, _Miss__McCaulay_."

She didn't like the way he said her name, didn't like the way he turned to look at her, slow and calculating. She had to be strong however. She had to stand her ground.

"I want to talk to you about Vlad," she said, bluntly. "I know what you're doing to him."

His expression didn't change, no tell tale twitch, and she forced herself to meet his eye, to not be intimidated by him.

"You're taking advantage; Vlad is very impressionable. I could report you."

Bertrand moved then, stood too close, towering over her so she had to arch her head back to look at him. She imagined Vlad in her position, torn between saying no and the desperate urge to impress, to keep people on his side, that she had witnessed on more than one occasion.

She opened her mouth to say more, to tell him that he had to put a stop to it, that he ought to be ashamed, but he was speaking, tone low and dangerous, before she had chance to,

"You've no right to lecture me. I've waited my entire life for this, gave up everything I held dear. I'm going to see it through, right to the end."

He glowered at her, eyes almost black, though with what emotion Alex couldn't be certain. Her heart was thumping in her chest, the atmosphere growing thicker and thicker, even as he leaned in still closer, hissed words she could see no reason she shouldn't believe,

"There is nothing you, or anybody else, can do to stop me."


	107. Chapter 107

**_Ingrid / Will_**

* * *

School, again. At her age. Ingrid scowled and threw the first thing her hand closed around at the far wall in temper. She glanced over the lip of her coffin to see it was the remains of the Duchess of Cambridge, '37. Typical.

She dropped her head back into her pillows and clawed her fingernails into her coffin lining, wishing she knew a better way to work off excess anger. During the hours of daylight.

Vlad was busy making calf eyes at the half fang, because he always had had a thing for breathers with no sense of fashion. He wouldd regret believing Bertrand over her whenErinwas nothing but another handful in Renfield's dust pile.

Bertrand would regret ever crossing her. And her father would regret every word he had ever said to her. She'd make them all suffer, make them grovel at her feet and beg her for mercy.

She tried to picture it, the fear in their eyes, the pleas on their lips as she hammered home the stake, but all she saw was Will. Will's smile, and Will's hand in hers. She clutched at the locket around her neck, at all that was left of him, and slammed shut her coffin lid, squeezing her eyes shut in the darkness.

Later, she denied it. Refused to admit it even to herself. Ignored the splashes of inky black across her pillow cases, and the way her eyes stung.

She couldn't have been crying. Vampires didn't have feelings.


	108. Chapter 108

_**Some more S3 practice, erin pov…**_

* * *

"I don't know why you're bothering," Ingrid said, not looking up from her magazine.

Erin stopped fussing with the hem of jacket and tried to act nonchalant. It wasn't as if she had been making a lot of effort, not really.

"He'll get bored of you soon enough," Ingrid went on, tone disinterested. "Just ask the last sap he confessed undying love to."

Ingrid was just stirring. It was her thing. At least that's what Erin told herself. She wasn't going to rise to it.

Vlad chose that moment to appear and she smiled, made to stand and greet him but the look on his face stopped her.

"I'm really really sorry, Erin. I can't tonight. I have to get some extra training in."

He sounded exasperated, apologetic, but Bertrand looked smug where he was leaning against the doorframe and, when Vlad had turned on his heel and disappeared back down to the training room, Ingrid met her eye and said too sweetly,

"What did I tell you?"

* * *

Erin tried not to let it get to her. She wasn't a jealous person, never had been, not even when Ryan had used to be given all the best garlic crushers and holy water guns before her. It was harder than she had imagined though, especially with Ingrid smirking at her knowingly every time Vlad broke a date to spend time with Bertrand.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. Vlad didn't _want _to be stuck down in that dank little room with his tutor. Bertrand wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, was he?

She said as much to Vlad the next time they were finally alone, and it made her cheeks flame with embarrassment, even as Vlad linked their fingers together.

"Bertrand's alright," he said, pondering. "He could do with loosening up sometimes. Doing something that doesn't involve that book for a while. Anyway," he added after a moment of silence, "I didn't bunk off vertical flying to talk about _Bertrand_."

He shifted closer to her then, put his arm around her in a gesture of reassurance. Somehow it didn't make her feel any better.

* * *

She found herself watching the pair of them across the dinner table. The way Vlad cracked stupid jokes and watched from the corner of his eye to see if Bertrand found it funny. More disconcerting was the genuine curve to the older vampire's lips as he told Vlad he had more important things to focus on.

"Yes," Ingrid cut in haughtily. "Falling on a stake, for example."

"That sounds all kinds of wrong," Vlad told her, glancing at Bertrand to see whether or not he had got it.

Ingrid just caught her eye whenErinturned to look at her, raised an eyebrow as she made a show of polishing off her pudding.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence and perhaps she was imagining it, perhaps it wasn't even directed at her, but she could have sworn that as they all left the room for their own domains she heard Ingrid say,

"You know where to find me."


	109. Chapter 109

_** 250 words, Vlad / Robin... kind of.**_

* * *

Vlad doesn't understand what there is to be confused about. Erin is pretty, and funny, and nice to him. Really nice to him, like he's not sure anyone ever has been. Because even Chloe couldn't see past his being a vampire, and Robin was always too busy posturing and primping and preening.

It really ought to be a no brainer.

Because Robin's hundreds of miles away and Erin's smiles are sweet, and shy, and they make his stomach flutter. But when they sit side by side, fingers linked together, Vlad can't help but think about how strange it is to be the taller, and howErindoesn't smell of a mixture of Lynx and Imperial Leather.

"Do you miss it?"Erin asks, and he must look clueless, because she adds, "Being human?"

He does, of course. He misses the feel of the sun on his skin, and the lack of constant gnawing hunger, the _need_ for nourishment the soya substitute will never be able to provide him. He misses Stokely, and Scouts, and rugby. Most of all he misses the moments of near normality, sat in his bedroom talking and laughing with Robin, promising that they were always going to be there for each other.

It makes his eyes sting, the memory, even as he clings to it, not wanting to examine it too closely for fear it might deliver the answers, clear away the confusion.

Aloud he says, simply,

"How can I miss it? I was never human anyway."


	110. Chapter 110

**_Some Branagh backstory..._**

* * *

The first time she met him he was ill. She had been running away from home because her mother had told her off again, and there was never anything to do in Stokely. There was never going to be. It was close to dawn and she hadn't made it very far, the ache in her legs already making the plan seem less than ideal.

He had been lying in the long grass of the field, doubled over and coughing. She had been frightened, at first, but that was why all the boys ignored her, because she was a scaredy cat, and made her play on her own or, worse, help their mother. So she screwed up her courage and edged closer carefully, the straps of her satchel digging in her shoulder, waiting for him to stop coughing.

"What's your name?" she asked, because it seemed like a good opening line, and he started in shock before glowering at her, hissing,

"It's none of your business."

She would have left him then, because otherwise she was bound to get caught and be told off, and people without manners made their own misfortune. At least that's what her mother always said. But he started coughing again, desperately, like her friend Margaret had before she was sent home from school and died of the whooping cough.

She ought to help him, she knew. But her parents would be very angry if she were to help the enemy.

"Are you a German?" she asked, uneasily, because he wasn't dressed in the uniforms she was used to. Golden braid and bright blue cloth, muddied with grime and blood, rather than the khaki and the smart blue the RAF wore on the posters at the public air raid shelter.

He laughed, a strange, harsh sound, and said,

"I'm many things. It won't matter once the sun comes up."

"I can fetch you some help."

"No!" He looked frightened, wild eyed. "You can't tell anyone."

The sky was streaked pink now with the first rays of dawn, and she made her decision, because they weren't far from her hiding place. He had to crawl more than walk, and she did her best to help though he was so big and heavy. He all but fell against the wall when they made it, both squirming through the half collapsed entrance, and he pulled his knees to his chest, curling out of the shafts of light coming through the gaps in the thatch and the stonework.

It had been a store barn once, but nobody used it now. It was dangerous the adults said, and some of the boys said it was haunted because somebody had died there, a long time ago.

"My name is Eira," she told him because it seemed like the polite thing to do, and gave him the bread and cheese she had stashed in her satchel for the journey. "I'll come back and see you later."

She thought about the stranger all the way through Sunday School, and during her chores and the telling off her father gave her when her mother told him she had gone out on her own that morning. After dinner she managed to sneak away, when the others were listening to the wireless, and took him the scraps she had managed to hide at table, and some water, and he coughed and coughed and coughed and didn't once say thank you.

He was still there the next day though, and the day after. So she sat with him and helped him drink some water, showed him her favourite hair ribbon and asked,

"Why did you come to Stokely?"

"I have to find someone." He said just when she was certain he wasn't going to answer. "I've been searching for centuries."

"My mother says it's not moral to exaggerate," she told him seriously, and he looked at her for a long moment, silent, until he lay back down again on the dirt floor.

"My name is Bertrand."

She took him her sweet ration the next day, but he was gone and there was nothing to say he had ever been there.

* * *

She told her brother about him, and Bill went with their dad to search the old building. There was nothing there, just as she had said, and her mother told her she was very bad, for making up such stories.

It must have been her imagination, she decided, until she saw him again one night when she was walking alone in the moonlight. She had been eleven then and thought herself terribly grown up and adult. The war had finished and she had been accepted into the grammar school, and always wore her regulation beret even when the other children laughed and jeered at her.

She had stayed behind for extra tuition, because they couldn't afford the books at home, and though she had waited and waited the bus had never come and there had been no choice but to walk home alone in the darkness.

"Did you find them?" She asked because she knew he recognised her. "The person you were looking for."

He gazed at her searchingly, looking for what she couldn't have said, before answering,

"I thought so. But they were only an impostor."

It was cold, almost winter, and she shivered, wishing she had a thicker coat and that her gloves hadn't become so shabby her mother had had to make them fingerless. He didn't seem to feel it, wasn't even wearing a coat, and she wondered what it must be like to search fruitlessly, on and on and on, like the war had seemed sometimes when the queues never seemed to end and even the ration coupons were useless.

"I could help you look."

He looked incredulous and it stirred something inside her, because she was perfectly capable and one day she was going to be the one in charge and the one everyone had to listen to, like Ellen Wilkinson.

"I shan't offer again," she told him sharply, making to head for home, but he touched her shoulder at the last moment and fell into step beside her.

"Let me walk you, it isn't safe."

The silence was comfortable, rather than oppressive, and when they reached the end of her street he turned to her, expression wistful, and said,

"I appreciate your offer but it is my burden, and I alone must bear it."

* * *

It became tradition, running into him in the cold dark of winter. He never looked any older and every year she asked him if his search was over. It never was. She could tell from the way he spoke, and the way his shoulders slumped sometimes that he thought it never would be.

"Would it be so very awful if you never found them?" She asked when she was fourteen, swinging her legs where they sat on the old boundary wall, looking up at the old castle, silhouetted in the moonlight.

She watched him closely, at the way he closed his eyes for a moment, as if pained.

"They have to be out there."

It was futile, nonsense, but she couldn't help but fixate on him that year, wasting her time on silly daydreams where he would wait for her until she was old enough to make him see that he didn't need to keep searching.

She thought of him in classes, and with her friends, and when she turned down Ted Branagh's offer to take her to the Plaza, though her mother scolded her for being arrogant, and for thinking too highly of herself.

She wore her best dress that year, and her mother's nylons and make-up. He never came, though she waited until it started raining, and when she got home Bill teased her mercilessly and her mother struck her for stealing. She cried herself to sleep that night but in the morning the truth was clear.

It was time to leave childish things behind now. She was too old for them.

* * *

The last time she saw him she was ill. She had been running away from home because he had hit her for the last time, though it was cold and wet and she had no money, and no idea what she was going to do or where she was going.

Her mother had said she should have accepted Ted because he was such a nice boy, and his parents were ever so respectable. She had wanted more. She had wanted to get away from Stokely.

Now the baby was nearly here and her only hope was to talk Bill into convincing their mother to take her back. She swiped at her face, pulled her coat closer around her, and stumbled forward blindly through the overgrown woodland, hoping that Stokely wasn't so very far away.

He was stood in a clearing, eyes wild, and when a flash of lightening streaked across the sky she could see that the blood streaked across his face wasn't his own, and his teeth were sharpened, like a monster's.

She screamed, couldn't help it, and tried to run, laddering her stockings on the scrub and scratching her hands and bruised face on low lying branches. She risked a glance over her shoulder, only to run straight into him, and he held her by the shoulders, firmly, until she stopped screaming.

"Are you going to kill me?" She whispered eventually, clutching at her stomach and wondering if perhaps it wouldn't be better all around, because what sort of life would either of them have without a marriage certificate.

He didn't say anything, just tilted her chin up with one long fingered hand and then there was nothing but darkness until a voice was calling her name, and she opened her eyes to find herself lying at the bottom of Castle Hill in daylight, with Ted Branagh crouched beside her.

"Thank God," he said, voice thick, and she looked about herself, confused, and asked,

"Where did he go? What happened?"

Ted just helped her stand, and said she oughtn't to strain herself. He took her hand outside her mother's front door, and touched the fingers of his free hand to the purpling skin of her cheek, jaw tight with restrained emotion, before telling her that the baby wouldn't make any difference, and that his offer still stood, if only she wanted it to.

He called her silly when she told stories of night stalkers to the children, but he always smiled indulgently and when he asked if she regretted marrying him, and staying in Stokely, it surprised her to find that she didn't, though her younger self would never have credited it.

She never forgot him however and, one day, a lifetime later when Robin came to her and told her,

"I've made a friend. He's a vampire."

She smiled at him, fondly, and said,

"I believe you."


	111. Chapter 111

**_Bertrand pov, after ep 10..._**

* * *

Failure, he had been told from the very beginning, was not an option.

Mistakes, of any kind, were only made by amateurs.

Being caught out was for slayers, and newlings, and half fangs. He had been trained to be inscrutable, to say the right thing at the right time and, no matter what, to fulfil the mission.

He stared at the underside of his coffin lid and examined the day's events, over and over. He ought to have seen it coming, ought not to have allowed himself to become so vulnerable.

Bertrand thought of Vlad's assurances that he had realised the nonsense of wanting to live alongside the breathers, and the disappointed look on his face when he had walked in on him trying to stake his sister. Of the evils of emotion and the unmerited relief he had felt upon Vlad regaining control over his own reflection.

Eventually he gave it up as a bad cause and left his coffin in favour of skulking about the corridors, and brooding in the training room. That was where Vlad found him hours later, motionless but for the blood he was swilling aimlessly around his half empty glass.

He kept his gaze averted, uncertain for the first time in centuries how he ought to play it. He shouldn't apologise for something which came as naturally as blood lust and murder and, yet, the urge clawed at him, unbearable as sunlight on his skin.

"My family are off limits," Vlad said as he moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to look up and meet his eye by presence alone. "You are either with me or against me; you have to make a decision."

Bertrand swallowed, seeing at once the boy he had been called to help, young and naïve and inexperienced, and the vampire Vlad had become. His response was as immediate as his way forward seemed obvious, and he sank to his knees, the way he had on that first meeting,

"I am here to obey, _Master_."

Vlad looked shocked, and more than a little pleased. Bertrand bit back a smile. There would be no more mistakes.

He was no amateur.


	112. Chapter 112

**_Written for round 10 of smallfandomfest. Prompt = Vlad/Bertrand, Vlad learns that it isn't only Erin who can be distracting..._**

* * *

Delila was sneaky, cruel and completely self centred. She knew exactly what she wanted, and didn't care who she stepped all over to get it.

She reminded him in many ways of his sister and Vlad supposed that that was never a good basis for a relationship. It was only afterwards, when Robin promised they'd never break friends over a girl again, he realised that perhaps he had had his own ulterior motive.

* * *

Robin had asked him once, holed up in his tower bedroom back in Stokely, what his dream girl would be like. Robin had lovingly described Ingrid and then, when it was his turn, Vlad had blushed and said the kind of things he imagined might be expected of him.

Long hair, and lip gloss, like the girl from the year above Robin's brother had dated. Robin had seen straight through him, without understanding _why_, and laughed and mocked and teased him, until Vlad had stomped his foot and thrown Robin's favourite cross pendant through the unglazed window.

They rarely argued, never fought, and Robin told him he was an idiot and that he hoped his transformation did prove too much for him. He called Robin a weirdo in response, and said that if it weren't for him Robin would never have had any friends, and that he would never make any new ones, either.

Ingrid had sniggered later, when Robin had slammed the front door and gone home for the evening, and smirked as she said,

"So, I see you've inherited the Dracula charm, Vlad."

They made up, like they always did but it didn't matter in the end, not really. Because Robin never twigged and then it was too late, because he was the Chosen One, and the Crown had called him and, before he even had chance to say goodbye, they were thousands of miles away from Stokely.

* * *

Erin was pretty, really really pretty. She had blonde hair, and blue eyes, and didn't need any of Ingrid's pots and potions to put colour in her cheeks. She didn't ask him endless stupid questions, and was even appreciative of him saving her life on occasion.

Erin didn't laugh at his hopes and dreams like Robin, and she wasn't just using him for her own ends like Delila.

At least that's what he had thought when they started it.

They went on dates, and held hands and, sometimes, they sat alone in Erin's bedroom and kissed each other. As if they could ignore all of their problems, just for a moment, and keep the rest of the world out.

"You're not a monster," she told him once, after he'd caused havoc and attempted to kill his own sister. "You never will be." She couldn't know that, so the words meant nothing, but, for years to come, he clung to them anyway,

Erin hadn't meant to deceive him, not really, and Vlad meant it when told her that they would still be friends, and that he would protect her.

He was glad, still, that she didn't get round to asking if he was able to forgive her.

* * *

Bertrand was infuriating. Appeared out of thin air and expected him to do everything he told him. Vlad fought against it at first, refused point blank to buckle down and spent his time with his head in the clouds, daydreaming about Erin instead.

"You are distracted," Bertrand told him, tone dripping with disapproval, and Vlad shrugged and apologised half-heartedly. Bertrand was like his mother, always on his case and nagging. Then his actual mother turned up and Bertrand didn't seem half bad in comparison.

In fact, Vlad started to notice a whole load of things about Bertrand. The way he half smiled when Vlad said something particularly funny, or the way his own stomach fluttered when he did something well, and Bertrand pressed a hand to his shoulder to praise him.

He realised then that he knew very little about the older vampire and began fishing, deliberately. Sometimes Bertrand indulged him, told him stories of bloody battles and fantastical spectacles. Other times Bertrand refused to be drawn, remained stubbornly calm and polite and evasive until Vlad gave in, and changed the subject.

They grew closer over books and research and training, and somewhere along the line Vlad stopped resenting the time they had to spend together and started looking forward to it. There were slip ups, and set backs, and misunderstandings but, in the end, they both came through the other side, stronger.

Bertrand was the one person he didn't try to kill, or even to humiliate, while under the control of his reflections. Later, when he wandered the darkened streets trying to regain control, to understand himself, he came to a conclusion about the reason why.

He didn't trust Bertrand, because he wasn't entirely sure he trusted anyone. And it wasn't as if he_loved_Bertrand, because he wasn't that much of an idiot. But he respected him, as a human and as a vampire, and that was something he had never had a lot of experience with.

"I always knew she was trouble," Bertrand said after Erin had left, and Vlad accepted the words for what they were. An apology. Ingrid, not quite able to keep up appearances, smiled too sweetly and said,

"I just thought you were jealous."

Bertrand kept quiet, but looked away and Vlad wondered how he had managed to be as oblivious as he had always accused Robin of being.

It wasn't immediate, and it wasn't easy. He couldn't give up his dreams of vampire / breather co-operation, and Bertrand wasn't willing to live off soy substitute. He was never going to be a model student, and Bertrand didn't need rescuing. Somehow none of it seemed to matter.

"Were you really jealous?" He asked after giving in and kissing him because, if he couldn't control himself, then he might as well get as much as he could out of it. Bertrand simply smirked at him, smug and pleased and still infuriating, but his tone was laced with a real smile as he said,

"How many times do I have to tell you; honesty is unbecoming on a vampire."


	113. Chapter 113

**_Robin / Jonno._**

* * *

At fourteen, just thinking about Vlad Count gave Jonno a headache. And it wasn't because Vlad was a total weirdo. At least, that wasn't the only reason.

It felt like there was something he was missing when he thought of him, something he couldn't quite remember. Vlad's family had just upped sticks one night, and disappeared, and it didn't matter how many people Mrs. Harker called into her office to have a chat about it, they were never any the wiser.

His dad talked about it at breakfast, said there was something very odd about it. His mother just laughed, and kissed his cheek and told him not to be so silly.

Jonno didn't know why, it wasn't like there was any evidence, but for once he felt inclined to agree with his father.

If Vlad Count gave him a headache, he was driving Robin Branagh potty. Robin had always been weird. Tommo Watson had told him, not long after he had first moved to Stokely, that Robin had once been suspended for dissecting a frog during a maths lesson.

Since Vlad had left he had only grown weirder. He was deathly pale, and the bags under his eyes were so dark even the class bullies had largely given up on him. Jonno wouldn't have cared all that much, not really, except his mum was the school counsellor, and friends with Robin's mum to boot.

Before he knew what was happening, it had all been arranged, and he was trudging up the hill early on Saturday morning to go and see Robin, because 'you'd love to, wouldn't you, Jonno?'

One of Robin's brothers answered the door, he had never been sure which was which back then, and Mrs. Branagh had ushered him upstairs and hovered behind him on the landing, waiting for Robin's bedroom door to open.

Jonno had felt unaccountably anxious himself, shifting from foot to foot and swallowing when Robin finally yanked the door open.

"Jonno's come round to spend the day with you," Mrs. Branagh said, too brightly, and Jonno winced internally. No teenager could resist kicking off to an introduction that patronising. But Robin didn't say anything, just stepped aside silently and, when he was inside, shut the door behind him.

It was like he was in a trance, almost, though Robin didn't relax and kept looking about himself, nervously.

"I brought the new _Zombie Annihilator_ game," Jonno offered when it became clear Robin wasn't going to say anything. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for the foresight. They had played computer games that time Robin had come round the caravan for tea. Robin had even been pretty good, if he remembered correctly.

Robin took an age to set the game up, and sat stiffly next to him on the edge of his bed when he was finished. Up close Jonno could see that Robin was faring even worse than he had originally thought. His skin looked more grey than white, and he had lost a lot of weight. The Robin he had had a banterous animosity with could never have been accused of not eating enough.

He tried to concentrate on the screen instead of on Robin, and won the first two games easily. They were halfway through the third, and had just been vamped for the duration, when Robin finally started to take a real interest. Jonno pounded at the control pad, and pushed his hands through his hair in frustration when 'winner' flashed across Robin's half of the screen.

He would have sulked, or said that the game was stupid anyway, but Robin smiled – a real, genuine, smile – and he couldn't be angry. He broke out in a smile of his own, argued for a rematch, and felt that he understood why his mum was always so happy, if this was what it was like to help people.

They started hanging out more and more after that, until Jonno realised with a shock that there hadn't been an evening all week on which he hadn't seen Robin. They had been sat on his bed in the caravan as the thought occurred to him, homework spread out in front of them, and Jonno watched as Robin's pencil moved across the page of his sketchbook. It revealed a face that made him scowl with something that felt like, but couldn't be, jealousy.

Robin must have felt his gaze because he said,

"He was supposed to be my best friend. He never even wrote to me."

"Maybe he didn't have your address," Jonno said, though the knowledge only made him feel angrier.

Robin looked up at him then, eyebrow raised, and Jonno had the good grace to shrug apologetically.

"I don't know what was wrong with me when he left. It was like something that should have been there was missing. I can't explain it."

They had never spoken about it before, about the way Robin had spent months drifting about like an animated corpse. Jonno touched his hand to Robin's arm, because he wanted to be comforting. Because he just wanted to.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, just stared at each other, long past the point when it should have been too awkward. Robin was the first to move, tearing his gaze back to his artwork.

"We're supposed to be drawing something that represents our past," he said, quiet but determined. "That's what Vlad is to me." Robin glanced up at him as he said it, and Jonno couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He didn't know _why _he wanted Vlad to be Robin's ancient history, what mattered was that Vlad _was _Robin's ancient history.

Looking back he was always surprised at how long it had taken him to work it out, but at the time it had just seemed another confusing teenage thing. It only really hit him when he was fifteen and he woke, flushed and breathless, from the kind of dream he was never going to let his mother talk over with him. It wasn't that it hadn't happened before, because even the booklet they had been given at school had said it was normal. It was just that they definitely hadn't featured Robin before.

He rolled it over and over his mind, just in case it had been one of those weird dream things. Like the time he had dreamt he really wanted to be a ballerina in a pink tutu. It didn't take long for it to hit home that it wasn't. It really really wasn't, and he had to excuse himself from the dinner table before his dad could ask too many questions about why he was blushing.

The question he had for himself was what he was going to do about it. Because it didn't necessarily follow that Robin wouldn't punch him in the nose were he to sit the other boy down and say, 'hey, I've had a revelation'. He worried at it, on and on, and started to feel on edge when Robin was around. In case he was being obvious, in case Robin could just tell anyway.

"Have I done something?" Robin asked one evening, when they were sat in the Branagh's front room watching television. The rest of the family were out at meetings, and Scouts, and rugby practice, and Jonno felt guilty even as his stomach fluttered, the result of Robin looking up at him, all indignant hurt. "It's like you don't even want to spend time with me."

He was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, afraid of what might happen were he to sit as close as he wanted to. Except all it was doing was making both of them miserable. If he were to tell Robin, he reasoned, and then even if Robin said no only one of them would be miserable. He didn't even want to think about when he had become such a sap of a pushover.

Jonno shifted closer, and forced himself to meet Robin's gaze steadily. He was a Van Helsing. He could do this. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth… And then there was frantic banging at the front door, getting louder and louder, and they both rushed to answer it.

His mother was stood on the doorstep, pale face streaked with mascara. It was bad, really bad, and when she said,

"He's dead, Jonno,"

It was only Robin's hold that stopped him from retching all over the pavement.

The next few weeks were a blur, a surreal blur that he kept wishing, over and over, was just a nightmare he was going to wake up from. He didn't and the day of the funeral dawned wet and grey, like even the weather was commiserating. His voice caught when he tried to read the eulogy, and Robin put an arm around him, without asking, when he sank back down onto the pew, legs shaking.

Robin was still at his side when two black suited figures approached, and asked if they could speak to him.

Alone.

He nodded, managing a wan smile for Robin, and trailed outside after them, only to find his mother sitting with someone who definitely wasn't there for the wake. She was wearing what almost looked like military uniform, and the two men who had been sent to fetch him were obviously waiting to take their cue from her.

"Agent Francine Palmer," she said curtly, flashing a laminated card at him. "I'm representing the Slayer's Guild."

Jonno had looked to his mum, hoping to silently convey: she's a total loony. But his mum's face was set, grim like he had never seen her.

"I'm sorry to have to break it to you like this," Francine said, directed at him alone, "but time is of the essence. Your father was killed by vampires."

His initial reaction had been laughter. It was idiotic, he wasn't going to believe it. But they had shown him proof, and taken him to their headquarters. Let him watch as Agent Palmer drove a stake through a flea infested specimen they had captured the previous evening.

Back home he couldn't sleep, thoughts racing, and Robin answered the phone before he could think better of the idea and sat with him through the early hours, too close and too _everything_, so that he couldn't resist pressing their lips together. Robin didn't punch him, or push him away, and they fell asleep fully clothed but wrapped around each other.

Exams were approaching, like a steam roller, and he knew he was going to fail because every spare moment he didn't spend with Robin; he spent at the nearest Guild headquarters. Eventually he had no choice but to accept what they had told him, to agree to sit still and let them stick things to his temple, and his fingers, and screw his eyes tight shut as thousands of memories flooded over his senses.

Vlad was the Chosen One. Vlad had untold power. Vlad was responsible for his dad's death and had left Robin to waste away, like a pet he had grown bored of. He didn't hesitate with his answer when they invited him to train as a true slayer, and he didn't flinch – at least not noticeably – when he bagged his first bloodsucker.

Robin hugged him tight when he got back from what he had told him was a summer camp, and he couldn't help but beam with pride when Robin explained about _them_ to his sister, and his parents, and his brothers.

"Don't know what he sees in you," Paul told Robin, as way of approval.

"You sure you haven't had a nasty bump to the head?" Ian asked him, adding his blessing. "He looks like something out of a horror movie."

Jonno looked Robin over; he supposed the word was 'gothic'. "I think he looks hot in all that black," he said in response, just to show he could give as good as he got, and Chloe rolled her eyes and sighed,

"Get a room, will you."

They had to move away, he knew. Had to fight against the scourge and find the Draculas. Robin looked angry when he told him they were leaving, lying about his mum finding a new job though he had promised Robin there would be no secrets between them.

"So you're just ditching me then?" Robin accused hotly. "Don't worry, I won't sit around waiting for your letter."

The words made Jonno's throat ache, like the first time Robin had admitted how completely Vlad had just upped and forgotten about him.

"Of course I'm not ditching you," he said, and it sounded more forceful than he'd intended. He took a breath, started again, "I'm not moving to the other end of the world. I'm still going to come and see you, every chance I get. I –" He cut himself off, before he said something he didn't think Robin was ready for.

They kissed and made up, and then kissed some more, just for good measure. They kissed until he felt dizzy, and he didn't know if it was always supposed to be like that, or if it was just the effect Robin had on him.

"I'm going to miss you," Robin whispered, later, like he didn't want to be soppy too loudly, and Jonno grinned and pulled him closer and said,

"I bet I'll miss you more, you know."

Their new flat was only marginally bigger than the caravan, and he scraped onto a course at the local college, because he needed a cover. It was a relief, really, because it meant he had something to complain about, when Robin rang to bend his ear about art, and film studies, and photography.

"I want to do something creative," Robin told him, accent sounding thicker when it came out of Jonno's handset. "I don't want to end up a plumber."

"I'd hire you," Jonno said, giving up on his half written coursework. "You can come round and see to my pipes anytime."

"I can't believe you just said that," Robin laughed, and Jonno stretched out on his bed and smiled at the ceiling, and talked for so long he never finished the essay and got kicked out of the college. They moved again, so it didn't matter, and he told Robin that he'd just decided English wasn't for him, after all.

He spent a week at the Branaghs, supposedly fishing for info on the fire at the castle and Ingrid's disappearance. In truth, he barely thought of anything but Robin, and they sat on the swings in the old play park, looking up at the castle ruins and talking.

"I wish you could stay," Robin said, out of nowhere, and Jonno scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground and said,

"When you're finished with uni and that, we could move in together."

He could have kicked himself once the words were out of his mouth, because there was moving too fast, and then there was picking out wallpaper patterns and baby names. But Robin just smiled, and swung a little harder as he said,

"I'd like that. It would be awesome."

They finally got a lead on the Dracula's whereabouts and he found himself face to face with the one individual he'd happily stake, whether or not he was a vampire.

"Good to see you," he lied, and he wished that it wasn't so easy to kill a vampire, because he wanted Vlad to suffer. It felt like revenge, watching Ingrid struggle to control her temper. And like justice when Erin approached them afterwards, offering her help in slaying them.

"Did you do anything interesting today?" Robin asked over the phone that night, and Jonno thought of Ingrid's expression as he'd presented her with that tutu, and the look of fear on Vlad's face when he first saw him. Aloud he said,

"No. Watched some telly, groomed my moustache. Man things, you wouldn't understand."

He could picture Robin pulling a face and grinned, waiting for it. Robin didn't disappoint him.

"It's a good job I love you," Robin told him, sounding long suffering. "Otherwise I might be tempted to attack you with a razor."

"Sounds vicious," Jonno quipped, and wished Robin wasn't quite so far away.

"You would tell me," Robin started after a moment, tone different now. Serious. "If there was something going on, wouldn't you? Even if you think I wouldn't be happy. I'd rather know about it."

Jonno thought of the Guild, and of the web of lies he kept weaving Robin. He was no better than Vlad in some ways. He knew how to remove the mind wipe. Could let Robin make the decision of what to do about his memories. He wouldn't though, he was certain.

Because he didn't want Robin to be put in danger. Wouldn't let Robin become a target.

"Oh, Robin. There's nothing going on. Honest." He said instead, all the while knowing the truth. He wouldn't tell Robin the truth because he was a coward.

Because there was still a chance that, when it came down to it, Robin wouldn't choose him.


	114. Chapter 114

**_Drabble written for comment_fic: 'Vlad, things can always get worse'_**

* * *

Things can always get worse. Hadn't past experience taught him that?

His mum hadn't just left; she'd left for a werewolf and tipped off the local Slayer's Guild.

The Crown hadn't just destroyed his hopes and dreams; it had lost him his best friend and robbed him of any chance of finding another one.

And Erin hadn't just laughed at his attempt at a Valentine's poem; Ingrid had photocopied it and pinned a copy to every school notice board.

"Cheer up, Master Vlad. It might never happen."

Vlad scowled, settling in to sulk for the duration. "It already has, Zoltan."


	115. Chapter 115

**_Ficlet written for comment_fic: 'Vlad + his mirror reflections, there will always be a part of him even he doesn't understand'_**

* * *

It doesn't matter how hard he pretends otherwise, they're always there, under his skin.

Watching, waiting.

He can feel them when he's with Erin, the voices in his head that tell him to simply take. To latch onto her jugular and drain her dry. To pin her down and rob her of other things he has no right to.

And he can feel them when he's with his family, coaxing him to talk back to his father, and encouraging him to force Ingrid into submission. To make her cry, and beg, and grovel, and to wish that, wherever Will is, she could join him.

Even with Bertrand he can feel their anger, their pent up rage that he won't take what the older vampire is offering. That he keeps fighting against what he could be. His destiny.

They don't want what he wants. Don't believe in the things in which he believes. Yet they are a part of him, as much as his unbeating heart or the hair on his head. He no longer has to fight to keep them under control, doesn't have to worry that they will take over without his say-so.

What frightens him, has him waking up in the middle of the day, shivering in his coffin, is the thought that one day they'll become him because he _wants_ them to.


	116. Chapter 116

**_I'd never written a songfic. But then I heard 'Dolerigger' by the GLC and this happened. Some of the dialogue is lifted straight from the song – give it a listen! Edited because FFN keeps smooshing words together and deleting bits to stuff I upload. Does it do this to anyone else? It drives me nuts!_**

* * *

Becky sighed happily, busy etching yet another set of initials onto the back of her week planner.

"Where did you meet him?" Erin asked, because she had seen that expression a hundred times since she had met Becky. She had found a new guy to crush on.

"Harveys," Becky said, positively breathless. Harveys was the upmarket department store in town; Erin had had her eye on a pretty purple scarf in there until she'd seen the price tag. "He asked me out and took me for a meal."

Erin caught Vlad's eye from across the room, knowing full well he could hear every word, and raised an eyebrow. When there was a dull couple of seconds in the Dracula household, Becky's love life never failed to provide them with a few moments of diverting drama.

"Is he really good looking then?" Erin asked, because Becky was so picky, even before she found a reason to dump them.

"Not particularly," Becky smiled at her, eyes shining, "but he is _loaded_."

* * *

"Eighteen pounds. Eighteen pounds! How can a main course cost eighteen pounds!"

Ian laughed, gleeful at the sight of his suffering. Paul shook his head and grinned,

"Don't you think you're punching above your weight there, Robin?"

Robin scowled. She had been well into him, he could tell; she had kept playing with her hair, and she hadn't given him a fake phone number.

"They're all posh English birds 'round here," Darren said, dunking another biscuit into his tea and scoffing it in one mouthful. "High maintenance."

Mike, the eldest of the group, put down his cutlery, "Nothing wrong with being English." He was from around here, and it had been how they had heard about the job. There just wasn't enough work in Stokely at the moment, not since the castle had burned down and BBC Wales' special crime report had branded the town a black spot.

"Nah," Paul agreed as he stood up, shrugging back into his hi-vis vest, "plenty wrong with being posh though. She ain't gonna see you again."

"We've already arranged it, actually," Robin shot back, wanting to wipe the smirk off his brother's face.

"Keep telling yourself that," Mike said. "Now come on, lads, those fancy toilets aren't going to plumb themselves in."

* * *

It had been over a week and Becky's mystery man was still holding her interest. Erin sometimes wished that she could pick and choose like that, though it wasn't something she felt the need to broadcast.

Vlad was sat with them in the canteen, nursing a drink for her benefit. It was like he could read her mind, because there was mischief in his eyes when he said too casually,

"Erin said you've got a new boyfriend, Becky."

Becky's face lit up and Erin bit back a groan. He knew how little she wanted to hear it all over again.

"He's taking me to _Ice_, says he can get us in, no problem," Becky swooned, like Vlad would know that was the swanky new cocktail bar where you couldn't get a drink for under a tenner. "And then, last night, when I was on my way home from boxercise, I saw him driving a _Mercedes Benz_. Can you believe it? He's only our age."

For the first time Erin felt a twinge of unease at the tale. Slayer training had taught her to notice when something didn't add up – and the calculations based on this story were all over the place.

* * *

"She thought it was _your_ car?" Paul asked, incredulously.

"Haha," Darren laughed. "Quality!"

"Can we 'ave some peace and quiet?" Ian groaned. "My head is banging."

They had gone out the night before with some of Mike's mates, and Robin had drawn the short straw and been designated driver. He had known it was coming though, and Mike's old school friend had let him drive his posh car, and given him some free drinks vouchers for the new cocktail bar and promised to have a word with the bouncer, into the bargain.

It wasn't so bad this, not really. It was cash in hand, and better than sitting at home and listening to his mam's nagging all day. His dad would be disappointed that it hadn't made him change his mind about going into an apprenticeship though.

Drowning in the canal still looked like a better career option.

He'd always felt like that though, unable to settle with what he had, dissatisfied. Especially the last few years. It was like something was missing, something important that he just couldn't quite remember.

"Stop wool gathering," Mike's voice cut through his self reflection, "and get some bloody work done!"

* * *

"Where does he get the money from?" Erin asked, watching as Becky applied another coat of lip gloss and pouted into the bathroom mirror.

"I don't know," Becky shrugged, moving onto her mascara. "Maybe he's a drug dealer."

"Becky!" Erin said, sharply. "You can't joke about something like that. You barely know this guy; do you really think it's a good idea to go tonight? He could be a serial killer."

The rant had come from nowhere, but she _was _worried. Because, while she might spend her time with a bunch of bloodthirsty vampires, at least she had had training to deal with it.

Becky didn't take it well, turned around to scowl at her. "You're just jealous that Vlad's idea of a romantic date is sitting in the library, doing your homework."

"That's not true!" Erin protested, based more on principle than on factual evidence, but Becky had already gathered her things together and was flouncing towards the door.

"I'm going, and I don't care what you think about it."

* * *

"She won't leave me alone," Robin said, taking the drastic decision to just switch his phone off. "I mean, she's fit an' that, but I can't take it."

Ian shook his head in amusement, "I can't believe _you've_ pulled a gold digger."

"We're going home on Monday," Darren offered.

Robin shook his head, "Yeah, but she won't stop ringing me. I can't afford to get out of this contract!"

"That's it!" Paul exclaimed, mouth hanging open with the shock of having thought up an idea, Robin thought viciously. "She thinks you're posh and rolling in it, yeah?"

"Yeah?" Robin answered, slowly.

"Well," Paul said, beaming at his own genius, "meet up with her like she wants but don't make any effort. Just wear your work clothes and take her to McDonalds."

Robin felt his own jaw drop. "Paul, I never thought I'd say this to you, but – that's an awesome idea!"

* * *

"Erin," Vlad said, tone determined, "I don't want to spend my only free evening following Becky and her latest," he hooked his fingers in the air, "conquest around."

"Vlad,"Erin said in a tone that reminded Vlad entirely too much of his sister. "I just know something's going to happen, I have a really bad feeling."

She could tell that Vlad was unconvinced, but she wasn't going to just sit back and do nothing. She had overheard Becky on the phone, the volume loud enough to hear the male voice on the other end of the line. He had sounded too pleased with himself, like he was plotting something.

"What if it were the other way round," she said, going in for the kill, "and Becky wanted you to check things out because she was worried for me."

Vlad sighed but her victory was clear. "Alright," he said, "I'll meet you by the gate at seven."

* * *

Robin eyed up his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a pair of Ian's old tracksuit bottoms, because they looked so much more disgusting than his own. There was a tear in the thigh, and paint splattered all over the bottoms. Paul had donated a faded Stokely Sanitation polo shirt, and he had his own filthy work boots.

"Take these," Darren said as he made for the door, handing out a book of McDonalds discount vouchers. Robin took them and grinned,

"She might want glamour but I'm telling you this, if she thinks she's using my cash then she's taking the piss."

* * *

Erin tucked her chin down into her scarf, hoping they looked inconspicuous. It was kind of difficult with Vlad dressed head to toe in leather, having come straight from training.

Across the road she could see Becky, dressed up to the nines and shifting from foot to foot in her high heels, trying to keep from freezing. Erin wondered what this guy would look like, he had to be more than passable for Becky to have even deigned to speak to him.

She didn't have chance to wonder for long because, though she hadn't given the hooded figure more than a 'he's not carrying a weapon' confirming second glance, Becky had taken a step back when he stopped in front of her, looking absolutely horrified.

Vlad nodded tightly when she looked at him, and they crossed the road hurriedly, because who knew what the man might be planning. Except when they got there he was laughing, genuinely and not in a mad, drug addled kind of way.

"I said that I was here for work," he was saying. "Not what kind of work."

Erin looked him over properly for the first time. He looked like a builder, though he didn't really have the frame for it, and his hair was too long and flicked out in a way that hadn't been achieved by just towelling it dry and running a comb through it. She opened her mouth to explain, to help wipe the suspicious look off Becky's face, and apologise for running over like this boy was about to kill her when Vlad suddenly stepped forward.

"_Robin_."

The boy – Robin – gaped at him for a second before grinning widely and hugging him.

"Vlad! I can't believe it."

"You're friends with Vlad," Becky said, crossing her arms across her chest and pulling a face. "I should have known." She hadn't forgiven Vlad for turning her down and kicking her out that time, no matter how many timesErinsaid it had all been a giant misunderstanding, right from the beginning.

Erin tried to be a good friend and be comforting, because she wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but Becky held a hand up and said,

"I don't want to talk about it. I'll see you in school on Monday."

"What was that about?" she asked.

"What are you doing here?" Vlad added, more enthusiastically. "And _what_ are you wearing!"

Robin just grinned at them and held up a fistful of McDonalds vouchers,

"Dinner's on me, let's go and 'ave a catch up."


	117. Chapter 117

**_slashthedrabble prompt 'stranger'. I'm trying out different ways Robin might react for a bigbang I've signed up for..._**

* * *

Even in his worst nightmares Vlad had never imagined he'd find himself in this situation. His back pressed against the cold damp wall, the sharpened tip of a stake against his chest.

"Robin," he managed, and his voice didn't sound like his own.

He had dreamt of this moment, coming face to face with Robin. Sometimes Robin hadn't remembered, had greeted him simply like an old acquaintance and Vlad had woken feeling empty somehow, at the idea that the most important friendship he had ever had had simply been wiped from Robin's memory.

Other times Robin knew, and smiled at him like the years in-between had never happened. They laughed and joked and, when he woke, Vlad wished he had the courage to just turn up on the Branaghs' doorstep.

The reality was that Robin sneered, glanced him over like he was something disgusting. "You've no right to play the friends card," Robin told him, tone cold. "Whatever we once were to each other, it was you who didn't want it."

"I did it to protect you," Vlad whispered. Because it was what he told himself, was what made it bearable when he lay in his coffin, eyes clenched shut as he tried to pretend he wasn't crying over the loneliness. Robin shook his head, expression bitter,

"You ruined my life."

He wanted to know, to understand; wanted to have Robin put the stake away so they could sit and talk about it. But Robin only increased the pressure, and behind him Jonno was holding the crossbow level.

"I know you don't want to do this," he said with confidence he didn't feel, bargaining for time. Robin just smiled, though there was nothing friendly about it, tightened his grip and said,

"You've no idea what I want, Vlad. We're strangers."


	118. Chapter 118

**_Written for the multifandom horror comment meme on LJ - 'Sometimes it just feels as if the people in the television are staring at you. And sometimes they really are'._**

* * *

Bertrand had never been afraid of anything, he had never allowed himself to be. The uncertain thrill he felt the first time he held a telephone receiver in his hand meant nothing, and the shiver that ran down his spine, the first time he entered a moving picture theatre, had been no more than muscle spasm.

Before, before he had been given his mission, and before he had become a vampire, science, _technology_, had filled him with morbid curiosity. He had snuck into the lecture theatres, and watched breathlessly as beams of light were split and bodies cut open, all in the name of progress.

Afterwards, when he finally mastered the hunger and most of his rivals had already fallen, the world had changed around him.

There were mechanised boxes that emitted sound, thunderous wagons that ran on rails, and mysterious forces which lit the darkened streets and, when in close contact, affected humans in the same way his own kind reacted to sunlight.

He ought to revel in it, or otherwise hate it for breaking with tradition. Instead he did neither and found himself unable to shun it, though he didn't want to seek it out, either. Things changed quickly, too quickly for a race that lived millennia, and the first time he encountered a moving picture box he crouched over its owner's lifeless body until his eyes felt gritty, staring at it.

It was like they were staring back at him, watching, and before he left the room he couldn't help but take one last look at it, over his shoulder.

The second time there had been no pictures, only static, and he could hear voices, speaking in every tongue he had encountered, like the cries of all the men, women and children he had ever slaughtered. Before he left he had returned to the room and put his foot through the screen, to silence it.

It didn't help, because there were always more and, before he knew it, they had become ubiquitous. They taunted him with all the things he had sacrificed, like light and warmth and friendship, and the faces all peered out at him, accusing.

When Vlad insisted on having one installed, he sat with his palms feeling uncomfortably slick and, in a fit of madness, admitted,

"It feels like they're watching me."

Vlad laughed, as if he had been joking, and Bertrand forced himself to sit still and watch them in return.

Just to prove he wasn't afraid of them.


	119. Chapter 119

_**Written for the 2011 Gen in January challenge. Prompt #72: Bertrand, Kismet.**_

* * *

Kismet. Fate. Call it what you will.

It hasn't been kind to him.

Bertrand can scarcely remember who he had been before the Praedictum Impaver. It comes to him in dreams, sometimes, flashes of sunlight and smiles, the warmth of having somebody to miss him, the embrace of friends and family.

But perhaps they are not his memories at all, only the images of things he once wished had been. It was too long ago, he cannot remember.

What he knows are the cries of the battlefield; the hysterical prayers and the desperate screams. The gush of blood against his tongue, and the weight of a lifeless body in his arms.

He was chosen for his heartlessness, they once told him. His ability to remain clear headed, and let neither emotion nor bloodlust control him.

Some nights, when the book was restless, and it felt like the walls were closing in on him he held those words dear. He was a warrior, a survivor.

He had been chosen.

He had given everything to his mission. Had searched, endlessly, from one end of the globe to the next, waiting for the day when the true Chosen One would come to him. The book would be opened, and their race would be saved. He would have fulfilled his unlife's purpose.

Except that was not how it happened. It was he who came to the Chosen One, and the boy fought against it, even after he had explained the book's import. Even when it was opened it was an anti-climax, a disappointment.

Sethius had no answers.

And now - now he sits and stares at the pinch of dust upon the table. All that remains of centuries of tears and bloodshed. Of his mission. The others go on as before, ignorant and oblivious. For him there is no such option.

Because without the book, he is nothing.


	120. Chapter 120

_**Written for the Candian Shack challenge.**_

* * *

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you," Bertrand said calmly as he went about the cramped space, checking the security of the window coverings. "Your Grandness."

Vlad withdrew his hand from the collection of slimy things in jars, and opted instead to throw himself down onto the lumpy looking sofa. He got the feeling that he wasn't exactly flavour of the month, not if the gap between the instruction and the honorific was anything to go by.

Bertrand was good at that. Being infuriating without ever doing anything he could call him on. Not since that whole episode where he had tried to kill his sister and give his allegiance to a millennia old madman, at any rate.

"We should be safe here," Bertrand told him, sitting opposite, apparently satisfied no sun was going to find its way in and fry them before the Slayer's Guild even got a track on them. "Your father and the others will be safe under Ingrid's protection."

Vlad knew it was true, but he doubted his dad would be very happy about it.

That was the problem of being the unwilling heir to a title half his kind felt they were better suited to, he supposed. There was always a group of rebel fighters wanting to stick a stake through his heart. Why Bertrand had thought it best to drag him halfway across the world and wait it out in what amounted to a Canadian garden shed, Vlad could only imagine.

"I've brought some blood," Bertrand said, and pulled an expensive looking vintage from somewhere within his billowing cape. "You ought to keep your strength up."

"I've brought Travel Sluedo," Vlad countered, irritated, because Bertrand knew he only drank soya substitute. However badly his stomach might be rumbling.

Bertrand shot him a smile then, startling in its sincerity, and said,

"I'll make a bad tempered bloodsucker out of you yet."

Vlad couldn't help but grin in return, and set up the Sluedo board even as Bertrand unclasped his travelling cape and moved to sit next to him.

"I wouldn't count on it."

They played until the sun was high in the sky outside, making his skin itch and his head feel strange, even with a wall between them. Bertrand was exhausted, something Vlad wasn't sure he had ever seen before, and kept making stupid mistakes, so that Vlad won on his own merits for the first time in their association.

He put the counters back in their case and thought ofErinback at Garside Grange, and his overdue English coursework. None of it seemed to matter quite the same here, miles away from anyone, out in the middle of nowhere.

"You should get some sleep," he said when he'd finished because Bertrand had been single-handedly keeping him out of harm's way for over a week. But when he turned it was to find that he was too late, and that Bertrand was already out, neck arched at an uncomfortable looking angle so that Vlad felt he had to play mother.

He found an ancient blanket, and let Bertrand rest his head against his shoulder. It wasn't exactly how he'd envisaged spending his Saturday afternoon but he decided not to over think it. It wasn't any _worse_ than Renfield's cooking followed by yet another revision session and, really, that was all that mattered.


	121. Darkfest

_**Darkfest fic. Any fandom, committed to an asylum.**_

* * *

He has no real plan when he secrets away a little of all that is left of his unlife's purpose, no idea how to revenge this latest humiliation. It isn't until later, alone in the dank corner of the building assigned to him, that Bertrand streaks the dust across the table in front of him and waits for an idea to form. Stares at it unseeingly until his eyes burn.

It mocks him, so mundane and so useless. He thinks of all the lives he has sacrificed for it. The weeping children, and the wailing women. The wizened warriors, and the callous killers. He thinks of his own life last of all, and attempts to remember a time when he was someone else. Before the book, before the mission. Nothing comes to him, and it leaves him feeling strange and hollow, until he drains a bottle of the Count's best vintage and is no longer in the frame of mind to think about it.

The relief is short, and he plots carefully, with all the meticulous cold heartedness that enabled him to survive long enough to resurrect Sethius in the first place. Ingrid is too vain to see past her own scheming, the Count is too stupid. The slayer and Vlad lose themselves in each other until he doubts his own wisdom, but the first meeting is more than enough to convince him.

To use the slayer would be amateur, foolhardy. This way is better, requires more cunning. Had his rivals not fallen victim to their own mistakes, they would have recognized his mark all over it.

It is almost too easy, the way all well thought through plans should be, and Bertrand takes it slow because there is no need to hurry. Vlad trusts him still, treats him like he is of no consequence, and Ingrid begins to drop her guard, content in the knowledge that he has no designs on the Crown of Power.

The boy himself is little as he had been led to think of him, and Bertrand only has to make his visits regular to realise that the real damage has already been done, and that he cannot begin to claim credit for it.

"I'm not afraid of you," he tells Bertrand one night, voice raspy with disuse. Bertrand leans against a white washed wall, folds his arms across his chest and raises an eyebrow,

"I haven't asked you to be."

The silence stretches, cold and sterile, until the boy smiles, changing his face so completely Bertrand thinks of it later, ensconced in his coffin.

"You're my favourite figment of my imagination."

He comes to learn dozens of expressions, and how the glassiness of his eyes relates to the boy's lucidity. He accepts the childish press of bony fingers, and one night, when the nightmares had been plaguing him all day, he presses back until the boy wraps his arms around him, and Bertrand can only imagine how it looks on the CCTV cameras in the watch room.

"You don't need to keep fighting," he's told one night, and the words roll over and over in his mind for weeks to come. Because if he doesn't fight, is there any point in him existing?

Ingrid gains the support of a discontented band of wandering warlocks, and Vlad comes to him for advice so that Bertrand knows the time is right, and that it is time to put the plan into action. The other pieces fall into place without problem, and the stab of something in his chest as he enters the boy's room surprises him. He doesn't feel anything; guilt is for breathers.

"You're early," the boy tells him, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual, a sign Bertrand has come to associate with experimental changes to his medication. Disquiet gnaws at the edge of his consciousness but Bertrand ignores it, refusing to entertain the notion that the others had been right, and that without the book he was surplus.

"You're coming with me," he says, and there is no fuss, no struggle, just simple acceptance. He takes the boys hand, feeling the shift of bone and muscle under too thin skin, and meets the dark gaze, knowing that the boy is aware, at least on some level, of what he has planned for him.

Garside Grange is dark when they arrive, but that soon changes, the family thronging to see what he is going to do with his quarry. Vlad takes a step forward, helpless, and the Count rubs his hands together gleefully, watching the entertainment unfold.

"Branagh," Ingrid intones dispassionately, "how delightful."

The vial digs into his skin through his pocket, and though the boy's pulse should be racing it thuds steadily, his reactions muted by the drugs in his system. Bertrand feels his fangs descend, and for the first time questions his control over the situation. It is too late to step back however, because all the groundwork has been laid in readiness. The formula has been brewed, and the spells have been spoken. All that is missing is the blood of an innocent, and all the texts state it should be someone with an emotional connection to the Chosen One.

"Where am I?"

The question is softly spoken, lacking the panic the others are expecting, and he watches Vlad's face crumple when he realises the question isn't meant for him, but for Bertrand. His fingers clench around the boy's shoulders, tight enough to leave bruises, and he begins to chant the flow of necessary words, the taste of blood against his tongue almost tangible.

"What are you doing?" The slayer asks, suspicious, and Bertrand thinks of how much he will enjoy setting Sethius on her when his spirit is once more solidified, this time incapable of disobeying his master.

"You've gone mad," Vlad says, realisation dawning, and Bertrand takes a moment to memorise his horrified expression before sinking his fangs down into pale skin. Vlad's wrong, it's obvious now; he hasn't gone mad.

He was never sane to begin with.


	122. Sap!

_Just some sappy vlad/robin fic..._

* * *

He caught the same bus every day.

Just the thought depressed him. Because once upon a time he had had dreams, ambitions, had believed he was going places. Now the only place he went was to Aberteilo and back on the Stokely circular.

Mrs Evans from number 42 always got on at the same stop at him, and asked him the same stupid questions every morning. Wasn't the weather terrible today, and how was his dad coping?

His dad wasn't coping, obviously, or he would have got the hell out of Stokely and only come home to let his mam nag at him. Still he always smiled politely, and mumbled some inanity, just because he knew it was what his mam would have wanted.

The school kids got on at the High Street, gaggles of Stokely Grammar sweaters and acne, and one spindly boy who stuck out like a sore thumb in his maroon blazer on the way to the fancy private school over in the next valley. They all seemed different to he had at their age, and the twins' voices rang in his head, telling him that was because they weren't freakish weirdos.

Robin ignored the lot of them, mostly, along with his fellow commuters, and stared out of the window until the bus reached his destination. From there it was work, and more work, and excruciating boredom, until it was time to catch the same bus back home again.

It was the same story on the return trip. The same faces over and over and over again. Gary Cooper, who had been in the twin's year at school, in his tracksuit bottoms and his work boots. The middle aged man straining the buttons on his suit, and the shop worker who always took her shoes off.

Gary generally talked on his mobile for the entire trip, attempting to appease his long-term girlfriend, or chatting up yet another new conquest. Tonight it was the former, and Robin cringed because even his limited experience told him Cooper was begging for a bruising.

He turned up the volume on his iPod to drown it out, and stared out of the dirty window into the darkness. He was so engrossed that he jumped when the black clad figure slid into the seat beside him, couldn't even have registered the reflection of the other man approaching.

It was unnerving, at first, because the bus was almost empty, and that left no reason Robin could see for anyone wanting to sit next to him. When he wasn't threatened for money, Robin settled for watching the newcomer, trying not to be glaringly obvious about it.

He was good looking, in a pale and interesting kind of way that was sadly lacking around Stokely, and seemed so familiar Robin was tempted to open his mouth and strike up conversation. He didn't, obviously, because Gary Cooper would tell the twins he was trying to chat up complete strangers on the last bus, and it would be yet another thing they'd never stop teasing him about.

They were pulling into his stop before it really dawned on him that he was openly staring, and he blushed, could barely get the words out that he wanted to get pass. The stranger simply stood, and shot him a smile that made his heart thump harder in his chest, and his cheeks burn all the way to his doorstep.

He shook his head as he searched for his keys, as if it would clear his head of nonsense ideas like the guy had been flirting with him.

He really was an idiot.

* * *

He really was an idiot.

As he slunk into the sitting room, Ingrid seemed inclined to agree with him. "And where have you been? You stink of breather."

"Would you believe me if I said I'd been out on a wild feeding frenzy?"

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, and Vlad sighed and let his head sink back into the sofa cushions, eyes falling closed. "Thought not."

The truth was that he had been out on an errand which just screamed loser. Yes, he was the Grand High Vampire and, yes, technically he could snap his fingers and have any breather brought to him. But, in reality, he was still Vladdy Count, and he didn't think Robin would much appreciate being manhandled halfway across the country anyway.

"Erin and Bertrand stopped by," Ingrid said, rolling the 'r' unattractively. "I told them you were busy."

Vlad stopped himself just in time from pulling a face, he didn't want to give Ingrid the satisfaction. Why should it matter to him that the first love of his life was now setting up home with a vampire whose idea of fun was a communal recitation of appendix XIV of the Council Code of Conduct?

He was being unfair, and he knew it. He and Erin had been too young, and too naive, and Bertrand wasn't so bad when he wasn't trying to drill vampire lore into him. Didn't really make the idea of Erin comparing the two of them any easier though.

Ingrid stood, clicked her fingers for Wolfie to follow her. Vampire senses, Vlad mused with his eyes still shut, were good for something. He heard her footsteps cross the floor, then pause in the open doorway.

"So, tell me. How was Branagh?"

Her laughter echoed all the way down the corridor.

* * *

"Chloe was on the phone earlier," Ian told him as Robin scraped the congealed mass onto plates, wondering how on earth his mam had made the same recipe edible.

"Asked how you were," Paul picked up for him. "If you were seeing anyone."

Robin glared at Ian's snigger but didn't answer, concentrating instead on dishing out cutlery and sliding into his seat. He hated Mondays. Chloe, lucky cow, was off at university, achieving what the rest of them had failed at – getting the hell away from Stokely. He had been jealous at first but now it barely bothered him. It wasn't like he was suddenly going to be beating admirers off with a stick if he moved location.

"We could set you up," Paul went on. "Gary has a cousin like you – into all that goth stuff."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Robin grimaced. He knew the Cooper approach to romance.

"Suit yourself," Ian shrugged and they ate the rest of the meal in silence, not awkward, but not comfortable either. Their father was away on an overnight job, unblocking sinks and fitting toilets, or the other way around. He hadn't really been listening.

"Think about what I said," Paul said later, when the dishes had been cleared and Ian was in the shower. He must not have looked convinced because Paul clapped his shoulder, briefly, and finished, "Beggars can't be choosers, Robin."

"Shall I put you down as 'and guest'?" Erin asked, so earnest that he couldn't even be angry about it. Across the room Ingrid sniggered, and Vlad concentrated on ignoring her. He hadn't promoted her to Chief of Security for her to laugh at him at every available opportunity.

The fact that he hadn't appointed her on merit, and rather as a way to prevent her from attempting to murder him in his sleep was neither here nor there. It was all ancient history now.

Much like his and Erin's relationship. Once they had lived in each other's pocket, sharing dreams and secrets and first times, and pledging each other their forevers. Now she was smiling at him fondly, waiting for him to tell her that, no, he didn't have a date to bring to her and Bertrand's crypt warming.

Every date he had been on in the aftermath had been disastrous, the level of fail only increasing until he was forced to consider the option that perhaps Ingrid was right, and vampiresses really weren't the type he should be going for. So he'd tried it and, of course, it had seemed so obvious he wondered at how it had taken him so long to realize it.

"Bertrand has a cousin," Erin started, because she knew him too well for him to hide what he was thinking from her. "You'd like him."

It was enough for him to fight back, like some double-barreled backbencher picking holes in his breather relations policy.

"I have a date," he lied quickly. "We've just been taking things slowly." It was something of an understatement.

Erin squealed and hugged him. Ingrid made a bad job of hiding her laughter behind her copy of _Caskets Quarterly_. Vlad smiled weakly and wondered what he was going to do now.

* * *

The stranger didn't turn up the next night, and Robin cursed himself for a fool even as he squirmed in the confines of his freshly ironed shirt. It didn't stop him from fixing his hair more carefully the next day though, or the day after.

Friday saw a complete return to his usual work attire, because Gary's cousin was suddenly looking like an option. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was rumpled. Gary Cooper was on the phone to a girl called Chantelle, and the old man who always smelt of a brewery was snoring in the seat directly behind the driver.

It had been a long boring day and Robin stretched restlessly in his seat, wishing the journey was shorter. He wanted to go home and hole up in his bedroom, the way he had when he was still a teenager and even his mam would knock before fetching him cups of tea.

He'd spent months up there once, some days refusing to leave even to go to school, and they had sent him to see doctors and specialists and child psychologists, who all seemed at a loss as to what to do with him. He had grown out of it, eventually, the fog that permeated all his thoughts and memories, but by that time his mam had been too ill, and he wasn't oblivious to the looks the others sometimes shot his way. The ones that said it was his fault, because if he hadn't been so time consuming, she would have got it checked it out sooner.

"It might never happen," a voice said then, and Robin jumped near out of his skin to find the stranger from earlier in the week next to him. His eyes were a clear blue, and there was a strange inflection to his words. Robin scanned the other man's face, took in the well cut clothing and the glinting ring on his left hand. The insignia matched the one on the ring he had tucked away in the back of his dresser, the ring he only had half memories of finding. The instinctive 'it already has' died in his throat.

"Vlad?"

* * *

Vlad hadn't really set out with much of a plan. He'd sit next to Robin, the way he had the other night after weeks of doing nothing but watching, and scan his face for any sign of recognition. Perhaps Robin would smile at him, ask him if he was staying in Stokely.

They'd meet up, maybe, in some little café and talk like they'd known each other forever. Robin would sit too close, and their fingers would brush accidentally. At some point there might be snogging under a clear moonlit sky accompanied by declarations of heartfelt love. He blamed Erin's choice in movies.

He wasn't prepared for Robin's stunned recognition and attempted a winning smile.

It was misjudged, he could tell from the way Robin shoved him sprawling to the floor of the aisle. He didn't really have chance to question it, because Robin swiftly followed, attempting to land a fist somewhere – anywhere.

"Go for it, son!" An old man crowed from the front of the bus, and the other passengers simply watched on in bemused shock. This wasn't at all what Vlad had envisaged; Erin wasn't into that sort of film.

"What the hell is going on!" the driver yelled as they pulled into a lay-by, and Vlad could see from the confused expression on his face that his reflection was as non-existent as the last time he'd checked in the mirror. He supposed he should be thankful Stokely had yet to find the money to equip the transport network with CCTV cameras.

"He started it," a tracksuited man who reminded Vlad of the twins said, pointing a finger at Robin.

"Get off, both of you," the driver told them, and then to Robin said, "And the only reason I'm not involving the police is your father."

And then they were left in the middle of nowhere, watching as the lights of the bus disappeared into the distance. Vlad doubted it had done anything to endear him to Robin.

"You've got some nerve," Robin spat, and started walking.

* * *

He could hear Vlad falling into step beside him, and he forced himself not to look. To think that he had spent all week making himself look presentable for Vlad. He scowled harder.

Vlad had just upped and abandoned him after wearing the crown, like he was some stupid toy he had grown out of, and Robin couldn't forget the months of depression and confusion. The frustration at not being able to remember anything, the despair that swamped all the gaping holes where his memories ought to be.

They had come back, slowly, and when they did he was half convinced he didn't want them. Vampires, and werewolves, and zombies. It was like he had gone from being potentially insane to having it confirmed for him.

And now Vlad had the gall to simply turn up in Stokely like nothing had happened, looking pale and gorgeous, and smiling at him like they were the best of friends again. It wasn't on. It wasn't fair. It –

He sighed, knowing he couldn't keep it up, curiosity already overpowering the anger.

"What are you doing here?"

They kept walking, and he still didn't look at Vlad, but he could sense some sort of change in Vlad's gait. Like he was relaxing, maybe.

"I wanted to see you."

It was the kind of answer he had used to daydream about, back when his mam was ill and he heard his teachers murmuring about how he'd likely have to change schools or be held back a year. He'd have given anything then for Vlad to turn up and say that to him. Even afterwards, when all he felt was numb, and nothing really registered, it was always Vlad he wished he could talk to. Vlad's voice he wanted to hear every time he answered the telephone.

"I've missed you," Vlad said, quietly, and Robin wished his response could be a no brainer. Instead they carried on walking, nothing but soft footfalls and his own breathing breaking the silence.

* * *

It was a long way, and they ended up sat on a bench in the cold night air, Robin stubbornly refusing to let him just flit them both back to Stokely.

The first time he had loitered long enough to catch sight of Robin his chest had constricted weirdly, like his cold dead heart was trying to kick start or something. Because Robin really had that vampire-with-a-pulse look down to perfection, the one the _Sunblock_ and his bodyguards couldn't seem to stop raving about. He supposed it was just in his genetics to be helpless in the face of it.

He had made a habit of it after that, and he debated with himself if he should tell Robin that he had been following him on and off for months before working up to getting on the bus with him. He decided that it probably wasn't one of his better ideas.

It was then he noticed that Robin was shivering and he shifted closer before common sense could make him think better of it. He could feel the heat pouring off Robin, despite the chill, and Vlad had to swallow. He hadn't been _close_ to a breather since he and Erin had called it quits, and he shivered now, at the idea of it.

"You can't just do this to me," Robin told him, not sounding entirely convinced. "You never even sent me a letter."

"I never thought you would remember," Vlad admitted, thinking of all the hours he had spent tossing and turning in his coffin, wondering whether Robin ever spared him a second's thought.

"I didn't at first."

He pressed closer without really thinking about it, waiting for Robin to continue. Even with the intervening years it felt weirdly familiar to sit like this, nothing in the world but him and Robin, at least for that moment.

"Everyone thought I was mad. I thought I was mad."

Robin finally turned to look at him, dark eyes and flushed cheeks. If anyone was mad it was him, Vlad thought. Because the sky was clear, and moonlit, and though it was monumentally stupid, he just couldn't help himself.

Robin didn't pull away, not even when it must have been obvious what was coming, and Vlad groaned low in his throat, touching their lips together even as his arm wound around the other man possessively. Robin kissed him back, after a moment, and it was all Vlad could do to restrain himself from going too far, too fast, and having Robin throw a fist at him.

It was difficult though, and Robin didn't seem inclined to help matters, biting down at his lower lip and clutching him closer, so that he had to bury his nose in the crook of Robin's neck. The scent of warm blood was maddening, and he was aware, dimly, of the pathetic noises he was making.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," Robin gasped out when Vlad swiped his tongue across his jugular, the words penetrating enough to make him sit back and look Robin in the face, though his body still thrummed impatiently. He sucked in an unnecessary breath, forcing himself to calm down and act rationally.

"I want to make it up to you," he managed, because any lingering doubts he may have had were long gone, and if Robin told him to take a hike he didn't know what he was going to do with himself. The silence stretched, making him nervous, but Robin made no attempt to pull away, and that had to be a good sign.

"Everything's different now," Robin said eventually. "You don't even know me."

"I can learn," Vlad answered, stubborn, sensing that victory was imminent. Robin was pulling the same face that had always meant he had been dealt a bad hand, and Vlad was about to beat him at Sluedo.

Robin kissed him in answer, slow and thorough, and Vlad lingered after getting Robin to let him get them both back to Stokely.

"The twins might see," Robin said after a good ten minutes of saying goodbye on the doorstep. Vlad didn't let up.

"I don't care if you don't."

* * *

It was late when he got back, almost sunrise, and he knew his bodyguards had been following him from the knowing smirks on the less mature faces. Vlad found he didn't care, not really, and he grinned at Ingrid on his way to his coffin, barely fighting back the urge to sing or spin or something as equally graceless.

"He actually agreed to go to the crypt warming?" Ingrid asked, incredulous, because she'd never had any faith in his ability not to send potential partners fleeing for anywhere far away from him.

"Not exactly," Vlad conceded, beaming anyway. "But he'll come round. I'm sure of it."


	123. Don't Stand So Close To Me

For werepuppy :)

* * *

Talent at Garside Grange was conspicuous only by its absence.

Sure, Becky conceded that Ryan Hicks in 13G was alright, and Vlad Count had improved a lot since he had first turned up with his briefcase. But, still, there wasn't anyone worth getting really worked up over, not that Erin had picked up the memo.

Because Erin was nice enough, Becky thought, and always let her copy her homework. But her dress sense was terrible, and her crush on Count was embarrassing. Especially when he gave up on trying to look cool and started wearing striped sweaters to school again.

No, there was only one fit guy at Garside. And right now, he was looking straight at her.

"I believe I asked you a question," he said, tone dark and rich and hotter than the entire line up of One Direction. "Perhaps you'd like to join me this evening in detention."

"Yes, Sir," Becky breathed, oblivious to everything else around her, including her classmates.

He raised an eyebrow, their gaze locked for a moment longer, then turned back to the whiteboard.

Becky sighed, went back to ringing their names together inside little symmetrical lovehearts. He was going to be hers. He just didn't know it yet.

* * *

Bertrand had fought against the appointment tooth and nail.

He was a vampire, an assassin, had trained under the some of the greatest masters who had ever unlived. He wasn't, as he told the Count in no uncertain terms, a nursemaid.

"And yet," Ingrid had chipped in smugly, "you tutor my brother."

That had decided it.

Garside Grange was low on funds, like every other school in the country, and Mrs. Wickham was on long term sick after having a nervous breakdown. Swore blind she had seen bats merge into men, and that, in the stock cupboard, she could hear wolves howling.

"Bertrand will do it," the Count had assured when Miss. McCauley came to speak to him about the problem. "Nobody knows history like he does."

McCauley had been unsure, even as she was grateful, but the Count had waved a hand, and shot him a warning look, and come Monday morning he was stood before a roomful of breather brats, testily correcting their pronunciation of 'du Fortunesa'.

He had expected to despise it, obviously, and had told the brats the most bloodthirsty stories he could remember from whatever era the little chart told him they were meant to be studying. But instead of cowering in fear they hung on his every word, and gaggles of girls trailed him through the corridors, giggling every time he so much as glanced in their direction.

It was, to be frank, a welcome change from his usual situation. The Count mistrusted him, and Vlad treated him little better than a peasant, preferring to spend his time with the slayer. If he was bitter about it, he felt perfectly justified.

His name struck fear into the breast of every vampire who had heard it. He had had conquests in every country on the map, and quite a few which were no longer recognized.

And he was reduced to looking forward to supervising detention sessions. Bertrand barely restrained a snarl as he strode into the room, ready to enforce the most hideous punishment he could think of that wouldn't result in him being staked for breaching the peace treaty.

Instead the tirade died on his lips, words failing him.

"I thought you were never coming, Sir."

* * *

Vlad had known this would happen. Well, not _this_ exactly, but something equally as terrible.

It was all over the playground, and there was no way it couldn't have made the staffroom. There would be an investigation and the fact Bertrand didn't hold a PGCE or equivalent would be the least of their worries.

He closed his eyes and imagined it all too vividly. The police would summon Bertrand to the station, without the offer of an umbrella, and the world would want to know why the only recorded Bertrand du Fortunesa lived over 400 years ago.

Bertrand was in his room, not having any scheduled lesson, and Vlad scowled at the sight of the man flicking through his wardrobe. He took a breath then, fortifying, and slammed the door behind him.

Bertrand didn't even look up, smoothing the nonexistent creases from the suit he was wearing and saying,

"If you wanted me, telepathy would have been more effective, your Grandness."

There was something in the way Bertrand said 'Your Grandness' that frustrated him. Like the other man was mocking him somehow.

"How could you do it?" Vlad demanded, ignoring the obvious answer to the question. "Don't try to deny it, it's too late. Becky's told everyone."

Bertrand shrugged easily. "I had thought you would be pleased with me."

Vlad scrubbed his hands across his face, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. Had Bertrand not seen the posters pinned to the notice boards? Not heard the laughter, and the sniggered whispers?

"The alternative was to give in to her advances," Bertrand said, wearing the same expression he used when he wanted Vlad to give telepathy 'just one more try', or to give vampire lore study 'just another ten minutes'.

Vlad found his anger dissipating in spite of himself.

"But did you have to say it was _me_ you were involved with?" He asked weakly.

Bertrand just smiled at him, disconcerting, and said with an air of finality,

"It had to be believable, Vlad."


	124. Chapter 124

_Inspired by the 50 reasons to have sex fic fest._

* * *

Kelsey was jealous by nature. She didn't like him going anywhere she couldn't keep an eye on him, and she didn't like that he was near enough the only guy on his campus corridor. She didn't like that he had added all the girls from his course on FaceSpace, and she certainly didn't like that he had random girls' numbers stored on his phone, no matter how much he insisted that he'd had the phone since he was 13 and couldn't even remember their owners.

Robin supposed that was why Kelsey had sent that first text; because he had been trying to get his coursework finished, and he didn't really want to go out so they could have yet another blazing argument anyway. Kelsey had slammed her way out of the building eventually and, because he had no choice but to be his mother's son, he was forced to run after her and walk her to the train station because the streets weren't safe, and his mam would bend his ear about it until he'd sooner throw himself on their doubtful mercy.

It wasn't until he was on his way back that he realised the message had been sent. 'Who is this?' to a number without a name ascribed to it. Robin winced, thinking of all the mistakes it could be, and then there was a tree shaped a bit like a skeleton, and an email from the blonde girl in his tutor group, and he forgot all about it.

Kelsey rang him in the morning, after his lecture, to say that she was sorry, and he accepted so they made up, though they both knew it was really a cruelty. It wasn't working, hadn't been for a long time. Kelsey was happy in Stokely, and he wanted to be anywhere but. Half the time it was like they were total strangers.

He ended the call with "I love you too" all the same, and the guilt churned in his gut, and made him streak his canvas black, and red, and monstrous.

The reply took him by surprise, and he simply stared at in bed that night wondering how much he would regret it if he responded.

'I'm probably not who you think I am. Who are you?'

It would only invite trouble, Robin knew. The sensible thing would be to delete it before Kelsey laid eyes on it, and pretend it had never hit his inbox. He was going to do that, had the best of intentions. But it played on his mind so that he couldn't sleep, and at 3am he snatched the thing up and sent 'I'm hurt, people tell me I'm unforgettable' before he could think better of it.

'Memory can play tricks on you', was waiting for him when he woke up, and the natural thing to do seemed to be to tap out,

'Do you have first hand experience?'

They exchanged messages all day, through his lectures, and his supposed study session at the library. All the while he racked his memory for a face or a name, thinking of drunken nights in town, when Kelsey had let him off the leash long enough. The last was like cold water across his face because, though it was in ruins, it hadn't always been a disaster zone.

'My other half wouldn't like this,' he wrote finally, as his alarm clock glowed an unhealthy hour in the darkness, because he surely couldn't make it any clearer. He felt sick, waiting. And then miserable and hard done by, which was ridiculous because the girl could look like the back end of the Stokely Circular, for all he knew. His heart skipped a beat when the response came, and settled somewhere in his stomach as he waited for it to open.

'I don't think you want me to stop though.'

He hadn't even realised he had been holding his breath until the relief flooded through him.

Term ended, and the holidays came, and still the messages flew between them. His heart sped every time he saw a notification, and he caught himself time and again daydreaming about what she might look like.

'I bet you have a beautiful smile,' he tried, because she did, in his mind's eye.

'You don't know the half of it.'

'You don't need to be so modest.'

'I'm serious.'

'I would be too, if you'd let me.'

Kelsey accused him, shrill and paranoid, and for the first time he made no attempt to defend himself.

"You're seeing someone else," she told him, with more disdain than tears, and he shook his head, honest, and said,

"I'm not."

She just looked at him, sad.

"But you want to be."

There was no point in denying it so he said nothing, and the sudden certainty that he and Kelsey were over, the last link to his childhood, made him bolder than he would have otherwise had the nerve to. It didn't matter, really, because the number only rang and rang, and then went through to voicemail.

"Watching the phone won't make it ring," his dad told him the following day, like it would make him feel any better.

"Kelsey might get back with you if you try hard enough," Paul offered, under strict orders from their mam to be kind and comforting.

Robin just sighed and counted down the days until he went back to halls, helplessly sending text after text, because he was in too deep, and he had always been stubborn about getting what he wanted.

'Forgive me?'

'Pretty please.'

'With a cherry on top.'

'Hope you're okay.'

'You haven't really forgotten about me?'

'I miss you. :('

It came when he had almost given up home, and he read it over and over and over again, because it was too good to be true when a minute before his life hadn't been worth living.

'I've not been ignoring you, things have been manic. Horrible. I kept thinking about you. You would have made it all seem better.'

'I could be a serial killer,' Robin wrote back, beaming.

'So could I. I could be anything.'

'I don't care. I don't think you do either.'

'You shouldn't say things like that.'

'I'm not, I'm typing them. But I mean them. I feel like I've known you forever.'

This time the answer wasn't instantaneous, and Robin bit at his lip, weighing the risks and the stupidity. The potential gain came in higher, and he curled tighter into his blankets, cheeks flushing as he typed,

'If you'd let me I'd show you how I feel.'

'How?'

He could leave it at that, pass the situation by. But it had gone on too long, and what happened next was only inevitable. There was detail, but it wasn't lurid, and he matched every touch he described, until his breath came fast and shallow, and his skin near burnt with the need for more. For anything.

'You don't understand what you're getting into.'

It could be the worst mistake he ever made, he knew, and still he didn't hesitate.

'Show me.'

The waiting was unbearable, and Robin peered up into the face of every person who passed, wondering. He had worried that they would miss each other, but the confession had been short and sweet, and the latter convinced him more than anything that he had it bad, because surely he ought to be angry.

'I always knew who you were,' it read. 'Can't speak for others, but I could never forget you.'

He jumped near out of his skin at the touch of fingers to his shoulders and he knew, without being told, it just seemed obvious. Blue eyes, and dark hair, and anxious tension that was at once familiar and unnerving.

"You might hate me, Robin, once you realise," the other man said, even as the rest of the world carried on around them.

"And I might not," Robin countered, watching the emotions fly across the other's face, knowing when to press his advantage. He pressed closer, let his mouth whisper words against an ear, revelling in how right it felt. Certain that nothing was going to take his victory away from him. "Try me."


	125. hcbingo 1

_For my hc_bingo card, 'magical trouble'._

* * *

The book had been everything.

He had searched for the Chosen One for centuries, and subsumed all that he was into the mission. The others had fallen, one by one, until it was he – and he alone – who held the key to their salvation.

It couldn't have been for nothing. He refused to believe it. It was a trick of the slayers, or else another test to prove himself worthy. He obsessed over it night and day, thinking of all the dead ends he had encountered. The setbacks he had suffered.

He had overcome them. This time would be no different.

"Miss McCauley is looking for a new history teacher," Vlad told him one evening, when the way forward was becoming clearer, and the boy could ignore him no longer.

Bertrand raised an eyebrow, expression nonchalant though his thoughts were whirring. "And you're telling me this because?"

"I could order your execution," Vlad said, with more bravado than conviction, and Bertrand stared at the glass he was holding, at the rich liquid it held. "You have until tomorrow morning."

He waited until the sound of Vlad's footsteps had disappeared before shattering the glass over the cold stone floor.

* * *

Erin begged Vlad to send Bertrand away, didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. It wasn't as if she could just forget about the kidnapping and the attempted murder.

Vlad shifted awkwardly and told her he'd deal with him, in his own way.

The agreement with the Guild held, and the Council sent out conciliatory feelers. Count Vasilev bowed low and spoke with deference, and still Bertrand skulked at the back of the party, gaze so dark it made her skin crawl.

"The children are really responding to the way he brings history to life," Miss McCauley told them all over a dinner at which only she and Vlad's father seemed unaware of the mounting tension.

"You are too kind," Bertrand responded, voice cold, and it was at that moment she became convinced. Bertrand was up to something.

* * *

The process was easier than he had imagined. The blood welled, albeit off-colour and sluggish, when he held the blade to his wrist, and the mixture smoked and bubbled exactly as described in the crumbling scroll he had taken instruction from.

It would bind them together, body and soul, but Bertrand didn't feel it mattered. His body was strong enough to withstand it, and his soul was long gone, nothing but hatred and evil filling the chasm.

Sethius bared his teeth at him, manic, and doubt overwhelmed him, only for a moment.

He was Bertrand du Fortunesa; Destroyer of the Innocent, Devil of the Seas. If Vlad couldn't see that the book had to be the answer, then he would make the decision for him.

Yet the plan swiftly unravelled. His tutoring had been too thorough, and Vlad dodged effortlessly. The slayer was prepared, flanked by her untrustworthy brother, and Vasilev just watched on from the sidelines, smirking.

"You haven't changed," the older vampire whispered into his ear in the aftermath. "Always wanting what you can't have, aren't you?"

"You know nothing about me," Bertrand shot back, though there was little enough time to waste, not now his treachery was becoming common knowledge. "You never did."

Vasilev simply looked him up and down, before heading for the door, cloak billowing.

"I know you better than anyone does."

* * *

Vlad felt sorry for Bertrand.

The man had once slaughtered his way across the globe, had inspired terror in lord and peasant and fellow vampire alike. He was now sprawled across the floor of Mrs. Wickham's former office, surrounded by GCSE test papers and blood which, even from the doorway, Vlad could tell was liberally laced with ethanol.

"You ought to just kill me," Bertrand told him, taking a slug from the nearest bottle.

"I would, but then my dad would have to cover your classes," Vlad said, trying for humour as he shut the door and picked his way closer. Bertrand didn't laugh.

"Only the merciful are taken," Bertrand whispered in response, though his gaze seemed to pierce straight through him. "That's what my father would have said." At that last the older vampire's entire demeanour changed, and Vlad barely had time to duck before a bottle smashed into the wall behind him, Bertrand snarling with anger.

Vlad conceded that this visit might have been a bad idea. It was, after all, less than a day ago that Bertrand had been hell-bent on killing him; had resurrected Sethius' spirit from the man's ashes and set him loose. If anything Sethius had been even more deranged than last time he'd had the misfortune of meeting him. Vlad rubbed unconsciously at his arm – he had the bruises to prove it.

His dad had been conspicuous by his absence during the whole debacle, something which was bound to have Miss. McCauley involved somewhere. Renfield had wailed with fear, and Erin had plotted with Ryan to stake the nutjob through the back just as he was about to turn Vlad into nothing more than a nuisance for the school cleaners.

Wolfie had ran for Ingrid, and Ingrid had swept in looking more pleased with herself than usual and asking what had he expected, when it was obvious Bertrand was up to something from the way he had lowered himself to spending his days lecturing pustules of primordial scum about the Industrial Revolution. Ingrid's wording, not his own. Obviously.

He should call a ritual slaying, and shove Bertrand out into the morning sun. At the very least he ought to order the man be shunned for a couple of decades. But, on some level, he understood what it was like to lose yourself. To feel like there was nothing left.

"You're more than that stupid book," Vlad said as Bertrand slammed about the cramped office, only half certain he wasn't going to get another barrage of bruises for his efforts. "You can be whatever you want to be."

They stared each other down for one moment, two, Bertrand's fangs bared. And then, just as Vlad was going to give up and leave him to it, Bertrand crumpled to his knees before him and _sobbed_.

* * *

It was mortifying, shaming. He ought to meet the morning sun willingly.

Those were the thoughts running through his head as Bertrand stood on the rooftop of Garside Grange, gazing up into the night sky. When he had been a young man it had symbolized romance and mystery. He had sat at the window of his room, and wondered whether his intended was looking upon the very same stars as he.

He knew now that he had been an idiot. There was no one out there waiting for their paths to cross, nobody destined to share his unending life with him. The very idea was laughable. Even had he lived only his threescore and ten, as youngest son he would have likely had no choice but to take orders. No doubt he would have been fool enough to claim it a blessing.

Bertrand shook his head. For years he had not spared a thought for what had once been, focused only on the book, the Chosen One. What was to be. Now he couldn't rid himself of the memories. The heat and the warmth of the sun, and the gentle touch of his mother's hand on his brow as he drew his last breath, begging for somebody to give him absolution. The taste of her blood against his tongue, and the terror in the priest's eyes as he cowered behind his crucifix.

He shut his eyes, though the vision only grew clearer. Perhaps he was losing his mind. It frightened him less than the alternative.

His conscience had no right to trouble him now. He had done things he could never hope to atone for.

* * *

Ryan could scarcely believe his good fortune.

Ingrid, he knew, believed that knowledge was power. And any way he could help her, he would, so long as his unlife continued.

Erin had told him about Bertrand's strange behaviour already, though Vlad had sworn her to secrecy. Of how the man had clung to Vlad's legs after Sethius had been slayed for a second time, and of how he had sobbed and sobbed, and slurred about how all the angels and the saints had abandoned him

Ingrid was pleased, he could tell, and let him sit beside her, so that the scent of her perfume seemed to shroud the both of them.

From that point on he made it his business to watch and to listen, understanding instinctively that Bertrand's behaviour was far from normal. He was rewarded for his patience, when Vlad was busy being briefed for his official crowning, and his sister was being taught what it meant to carry a half breed.

"You were careless, you wanted it too badly," Vasilev was saying, Bertrand simply sitting and letting him. The man was paler than even the paintings in Ingrid's fashion magazines, and when he started coughing and could scarcely stop, Ryan wondered if perhaps it might be blood poisoning.

"I didn't know," Bertrand managed, and Vasilev sneered nastily,

"You heard the sermons well enough and still you followed him. It was lucky I was waiting for you." When Bertrand scowled, Vasilev leaned in closer, "You're the eldest now, the other childe have all been lost, one way or another."

Ryan kept still, as still as the excitement would allow him to. Bertrand's half-fang status was common enough knowledge, but this was something new. Something Ingrid would want to know.

Suddenly Vasilev stood, so quick that Ryan thought the Count had sensed his presence. But, no, Vasilev was just scanning the office, taking in the piles of papers and ringbinders.

"It must have near killed you to come to me, to beg me for help."

Bertrand stiffened, though his expression didn't change. Vasilev smiled; it wasn't a pleasant sight.

"I can't help you. That magic was old, dark. You'll never counteract it, not before it tears you apart from the inside out."

"What do I have to do?" Bertrand asked, jaw clenched.

"Always so stubborn," Vasilev cooed, touching a finger to Bertrand's cheek though it was obvious it wasn't welcome. "You have to be offered blood willingly. From somebody who loves you."

* * *

It hurt. It hurt more than he had ever thought possible. It wasn't the hunger, though that was ever present, gnawing. And it wasn't the humiliation, though it stung, knowing that Vasilev had seen him, once again, at his weakest.

It was the guilt lying thick in the pit of his stomach, the remorse for what he had done though by rights the death and the suffering should have been nothing but a source of pride to him.

He thought of his life before, before he had succumbed to temptation and followed, hoping only for one more glimpse of dark eyes and full lips, and instead had found Vasilev. Waiting for him.

Vasilev had come for him, after he had gorged himself on those he had once been closest too. The older vampire had taught him to hunt, and introduced him to the Recruiter, and when the initial bloodlust had died and he had demanded answers, Vasilev pushed his face against the cold stone floor, and told him that he had chosen him specially.

"I watched you," he had spoken against his ear, even as the pain flashed white hot. "I saw you watching. It was why I chose you, because you were already fallen."

In the present he had nothing but the school, and though he should despise it, he couldn't spare the energy. The students didn't like him, but they respected him, and when Vlad ceased to need him he no longer had to hide the way his entire being ached, and the way he hoped, in spite of it all, that there was someone out there.

That somebody would save him.

He followed public feeling, and the latest Ofsted reports, and Vlad relied on him to write letters of support to the more traditional newspapers, and Miss McCauley convinced the Board to promote him to Head of Department, because he had really turned results around, and he was so committed, which was another way of saying that he had nothing else to fill his time. Not now that the thought of tearing someone's throat out turned his stomach, and the book was gone, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Ingrid taunted him with the inevitability of it, and the Count challenged him to a chess match, as an excuse to air his grievances with his daughter. "She's so like her mother," he spat, unable to see that which was obvious, and Bertrand was dismayed when he lost, albeit narrowly, because he hadn't realised how out of practice he was.

It was easy enough to find opponents on the computer system he had been forced to become accustomed to and, it was an escape in the way his books and his rosary had once been.

"You're too predictable," his most regular competitor typed to him, and Bertrand laughed, mirthlessly, because it was the one thing he had never been accused of.

* * *

Ingrid leaned against the door frame, watching as Bertrand set to work with a red Garside issue biro. It was pathetic enough to be tragic.

"I do have a lot of work to do," Bertrand said eventually, without looking up from his marking. Ingrid simply smirked and pushed further into the room, gaze falling on the 'Thank You' card perched too casually on top of the filing cabinet, and the open laptop on the desk, the screen full of a half finished chess game.

"It can't be much longer now," Ingrid said as if the other vampire hadn't spoken. "I expect you're looking forward to it really; to be put out of your misery." She trailed her fingernails across his shoulders as she said it, triumphant at the way he shivered, helplessly.

His misfortune had served her well, and this chance to rub salt into the wounds was only the icing on the cake as far as she was concerned. She had made enquiries, discreetly, with the information Ryan had given to her, and Vasilev had had no choice but to support her appointment to the Inner Chamber of the Council.

It wasn't everything she had wanted, but it wasn't bad, and once Bertrand was history, her influence could only increase. The man should have had a position of his own by now, the situation was settled enough to get away with it. But Vlad didn't notice anything that didn't involve Erin or the Halfling, and Ingrid had no desire for a rival, even one that was about to snuff it.

"You're not as clever as you think you are," Bertrand told her, through gritted teeth, and Ingrid just smiled,

"But I'm cleverer than you think I am."

* * *

Ingrid was right, it couldn't be much longer now. He couldn't keep blood down, fresh or bottled, and the headache wouldn't go away, no matter how he twisted and turned in his coffin.

"Ah, Bertrand, I'm glad I've caught you," Miss McCauley said, mere minutes into the new school year, and he wondered if it was something vampiric or wilful ignorance that kept her from commenting on his appearance.

"Don't forget you've got the NQT starting this morning. I thought you would want to mentor him personally."

Bertrand grimaced. He had more than enough to do, like ensuring Vlad's position really was secure before trying to die in peace and quiet. Aloud he said,

"I can scarcely contain myself."

Miss McCauley took him at face value.

The man was waiting for him in his office, dark head bent over his chess board. There was something about him that reminded Bertrand of long ago, of wishing and waiting and wanting, and he slammed his office door shut in frustration, because he'd always thought that if he was going down, it would be in a blaze of violent glory.

"Robin. Robin Branagh," the man said with outstretched hand and none of the anxiety Bertrand felt he ought to be displaying. "Have we got a chess club here? Because we had one at my last placement, and it was _awesome_."

"We have an inspection next month," Bertrand offered, unconsciously categorising the man's blood type. B. Always had been his favourite. When he realised what he was doing, he put a stop to it, noting the way he was stood too close, and the way his head was suddenly full of urges he'd thought he was no longer going to be bothered by.

"We can always play," Robin said in response, cracking his knuckles theatrically. "I really wanted this job. I think I'm going to like it here."

He wanted to say something about funding or probation periods, but the man grinned and he thought suddenly of the confessional, and how he had once tried so hard to banish it, and instead simply led the way to his classroom.

* * *

Vlad didn't believe it at first. Couldn't. But his dad backed up Ingrid, and Vasilev bowed lower than usual and told him,

"I can't recommend it, Your Grandness."

He went anyway, and though he wouldn't have credited it the sight of Robin wasn't the most shocking thing waiting for him.

"You look ill," he told Bertrand, because the other man had always been fastidious when it came to his clothing, but now his suit jacket was hanging off him.

"I'm fine," Bertrand said in response, but Vlad saw how he refused blood at the table, and the way his hand tremored.

Robin wasn't so reticent, and hugged him, and slapped his back, and for a moment Vlad could pretend that he was just a normal guy, running into an old school friend. Then the scent of Robin's blood shuddered through him, and the steady thump of his heart set his fangs on edge, and the effects of his own hypnosis were too apparent when Robin used the opportunity to say,

"This is so cool. We should do some sightseeing or something before you have to go back."

He stayed longer than he should have, long enough to be roped into sitting through the chess club's semi-finals, and watched the concentration on Robin's face with a pang of longing for the carefree life he had once led. They promised to write, and Robin cooed over the pictures in his wallet of Erin and the baby.

It was late when he made his way to his old bedroom, and he paused for a moment at the sound of Vasilev's voice, hushed though it was.

"They pose no threat. Perhaps you'll yet unlive to see it."

"Perhaps," Bertrand answered, though he sounded disinterested and exhausted, nothing like Vlad had never known him.

They needed to talk. He'd put it on his 'to do' list.

* * *

"I knew Vlad at school," Robin said over dinner in the school cafateria. "We told each other everything."

There was something off about the statement, but Bertrand couldn't place it. Couldn't clear his head enough to properly consider it. He hadn't expected to last it out this long; from the written accounts, no other vampire had.

"I wish you'd eat something," Robin went on. "You never know when you're going to need your strength, do you? That sounds like the kind of thing my mam used to say. My mam liked Vlad, thought he needed feeding up. She would have liked you too, I know she would 'ave."

Bertrand let the talk wash over him, because it felt comforting, like it was something he had done over and over. Except he was only confusing it with memories of someone else, and they had never understood what it had meant to him anyway.

He swayed when he stood, put a steadying hand on Robin's shoulder without thinking about it. The heat beneath his palm made his head swim, and he was only vaguely aware of the way the other man helped him from the canteen to his office.

"It's only a week until the end of term," Robin offered, and Bertrand struggled to sit upright, and to stay alert. "It'll all be over then."

He sounded uncertain, and Bertrand just nodded, and waited for the door to close before burying his head in his hands.

* * *

Ingrid paced the room angrily, then put a foot through one of her father's priceless trinkets just for the sake of it. The smell of Branagh hung in the air, and she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it coming.

Vasilev was a cowardly, lying worm, and there were as many disaffected vampires as slayers who would do anything to get at the Chosen One.

"He told me I would be perfect for the part," Branagh told her, calm and serious and nothing like the inane babbler she had been forced to listen to every time Bertrand chose to hold a meeting on this side of the school building. "I thought it would be easy."

"How many are there?" She had asked, planning, and he had shrugged, met her gaze.

"50. Maybe 60."

In the present she snapped her fingers, her devotees scurrying. There was a lot to do.

* * *

His thoughts were blurring, running into each other. He had no idea how he had been talked into overseeing this.

"I was chess champion four years running at my school," Robin was telling a pretty teaching assistant from the art department. Bertrand felt his fangs against his lips and scowled. He was going to win the staff chess finals if it was the last thing he did, which was looking more than probable.

His reasoning was not important, vanity was such a small sin in comparison to those he had already collected.

Vlad had been easy enough to distract, and Vasilev had assured him that all threats were in hand, though he trusted the older vampire even less now than he ever had. In the end he had had no choice but to approach Ingrid, and though she had made him suffer, he trusted her well enough to do what was in everyone's best interests.

The final match was between himself and Robin, inevitably, and his concentration slipped and wavered, until Robin looked at him, pointedly, as he captured his final piece.

"I've told you before; you are too predictable."

Bertrand understood, though there was nothing he could do about it. He left before Miss McCauley had finished her speech, and the cold stone of the disused East Wing corridor was comforting. Even if it hadn't been, he couldn't make it any further.

Death was surprisingly loud in its coming, and the banging and the scuffling reverberated its way around his skull for long minutes before he realised that it was, in fact, a sign of life.

He could make Vlad out, and beside him the slayer, more than holding their own against a rag bag group of vampires. He ought to move, ought to do something. Except his vision was blurring, and though he got to his feet, it took nearly all of his effort.

When he opened his eyes it was to the sight of Vasilev, and it felt like some kind of divine punishment that he should be the creator and the destroyer of his unlife. But one moment the hated face was there, and the next his favourite jacket was covered in a fine layer of the kind of ash that didn't take kindly to dry cleaning.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," a familiar voice said, sounding at once close and distant, and then there was the press of flesh to his mouth and, after that, nothing.

* * *

"You were going to kill me?" A voice that had to be Vlad's said as he regained consciousness.

"You tried to wipe my mind and just disappeared," Robin countered, sulkily.

"That was for your own protection!"

"Yeah, well you don't know what it was like. You have no idea. Jonno might have forgiven you, but -"

"What's Jonno got to do with anything!"

"Look, the fact is, I didn't kill you. Did I?"

"You can't just say that and it's as if you never wanted to in the first place."

Bertrand groaned, it really wasn't doing anything for his headache. Except, his head wasn't aching. He moved, gingerly, experimentally, but there was no wave of pain, no lurching feel of sickness. He realised suddenly that he was hungry, and that he could smell properly, the swirl of life and blood and colour that had been missing for so long he had ceased to notice it.

"You're awake!" Vlad exclaimed, and the boy had the good grace to look guilty, for not noticing that he had been death's door for months now.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asked, and there was a nervous note in his voice that made the monster within him crow with delight, even as his long-dead heart felt like it was making a dismal attempt at kickstarting.

"You fed me," he said simply, and he couldn't miss Vlad's conflicted expression on the subject, even as he excused himself.

"Vasilev said you'd like me," Robin said, ignoring the way he scowled at the mention of the other vampire's name. "I didn't expect to end up liking you."

"It's more than like," Bertrand countered, revelling in the confidence and the certainty that came with being a fully fledged vampire. Robin shrugged, graceless, and sat on the floor beside the couch he had been somewhat unceremoniously dumped on,

"I don't let just anyone stick their fangs into me," Robin answered, with a smile that made his insides squirm because he obviously wasn't as back to his old self as he had thought he was. Robin took his hand then, without any trace of fear, and Bertrand decided that the change was okay.

He had plenty of time to learn to unlive with it.


	126. Chapter 126

_Inspired by the 2012 QueerFest prompt: Any high-school fandom, any characters, there's a rumour amongst the pupils that a teacher is gay. The teacher suddenly finds themself inundated with students wanting advice._

* * *

It's easy enough to work out where the rumour originated. What is less easy is deciding to do nothing to counter it.

The third years giggle in the corridors when he passes them, and the girls in his form class whisper to each other about which members of the teaching staff they ought to try and set him up with. Someone – and he has his suspicions – posts crudely photoshopped images to the department noticeboard, and Gary Anderson kicks up such a fuss about having to sit next to him at morning assembly the Head steps in, and suddenly he is being asked for his input on 'diversity week' by the Senior Leadership Team.

Ingrid smiles too sweetly when Miss McCauley drops by after hours with lesson plans and banners, and children start knocking on his door at lunchtimes, pale and anxious as they work up the courage to ask his advice on how to make sense of what they are feeling.

Vlad had wanted to punish him by forcing him to take the position and, in those moments, Bertrand thinks that the boy has succeeded admirably. He had his soul taken from him long ago, and in the centuries since he's trained to be ruthless, a killer. He doesn't know what to do with the stream of questioning teenagers, other than to tell them to go away, and yet the compulsion to obey is too strong because, he fears, without it, he wouldn't even know what to do with himself.

Some of them cry, others simmer with barely concealed anger. Most ask him questions he has no idea how to begin to answer.

Things had been different then, and the prayers he had been advised to offer up over his rosary had been proven worthless, anyway. He tries parroting things from the leaflets, and when that tactic grows stale he speaks his mind, and tells them that with luck they will only get one life, and that they ought to do what they want with it.

"Were your parents mad at you, Sir?" Kayleigh Thompson asks, guileless, and it's with shock that he realises he can no longer even remember what they looked like.

The year is almost up when Vlad comes to him, eyes rimmed red and body taut with nervous tension. "Did Ingrid know it was true?" He asks, voice sounding scratchy, and Bertrand doesn't need to probe to know he is referring to Ingrid's attempts to outwit him with flirtation, long before she ever began sticking pictures up on noticeboards.

"Perhaps," he says in response. "We never discussed it."

Vlad simply looks at him for long moments, like he is weighing up whether or not to say something. Finally the words come, "I think we're finished. Erin says it's for the best." Vlad chokes on the last part, and Bertrand understands enough not to congratulate the slayer on her common sense, belated though it might have been.

The silence stretches, because it is too late for his usual advice, and he's not in the habit of speaking false sympathy when there is nothing to be gained by it.

Vlad fidgets; Bertrand waits patiently.

"What would the Council think about it?" He asks at last, and Bertrand doesn't miss the stress on the final word. He forms his own carefully, though part of him longs to barb them, revenge for the humiliation of the past year, for all that he might have deserved it.

"They will take their cue from you." He's grown soft, become too in touch with his inner breather, and can't help but add with a fond smile, "It doesn't matter in our world. It hasn't for centuries."

The relief on the boy's face is obvious. "I didn't mean to make things awkward," Vlad says after another pause, though the fidgeting has lessened. "I only told Erin I thought – and Erin only said to Becky -"

"It's alright," Bertrand says, standing, at once unwilling to hear an apology and oddly touched to be receiving one, and pulls his masks and his dignity back around him. "I'm sure it has taught you a valuable lesson."

He doesn't need to be facing the boy to see the scowl his words and tone engenders. He smiles to himself, satisfied, and thinks that perhaps the last year hasn't been a dead loss, after all.


	127. Chapter 127

_Vlad/Bertrand, unrequited..._

* * *

"I love you."

Silence reigned, no response seemed entirely appropriate. Finally Vlad cracked, tone desperate,

"Please, Bertrand, say something."

Bertrand supposed he should have been expecting it, had noted for months the way the boy's cheeks coloured when their gaze meant, and how hard he tried to keep his thoughts shielded. With the slayer out of the picture, and the vampire world in turmoil, it made sense the boy would cling to something constant, something stable.

He bit back a laugh at that last. Stable; he felt anything but.

"I'm very flattered," he began, dredging up memories of terrible training courses with the staff of Garside Grange, and suppressing those of the way he had dealt with the last vampire to make such a confession to him. That had been before. He was a reformed character.

Vlad's face crumpled, recognising the words for what they were, and Bertrand felt a sudden surge of sympathy, proving how soft he had become since losing the book as his focus of single minded determination.

"Is there someone else?" Vlad asked, though the sensible thing would have been to abandon the topic entirely.

"Would it make any difference?"

Vlad's shoulders slumped. Bertrand ruthlessly quashed the urge to comfort him. Vlad was young, scarcely more than a child; he had his whole unlife ahead of him.


	128. Chapter 128

_Just a sappy little thing I finally got round to finishing off._

* * *

It had taken months of hinting, and wheedling, and outright begging but, finally, Miss McCauley had agreed it was a good idea, and suddenly the Count couldn't wait to send Renfield to the shops to stagger back with a 42 inch TV set.

Ingrid sniffed haughtily, but wasn't smart enough to hide the packaging from the shopping channel, and Bertrand eyed it up suspiciously, but watched the news diligently, and Vlad once caught him reminiscing with his dad about refreshments during war time newsreels.

Wolfie seemed happy enough with the cartoons, and Renfield's dress collection started improving, with endless viewings of programmes about skin care and how to make the most of your waistline.

His dad had little interest, though felt he had to be constantly in possession of the remote control, and Erin used it as an excuse to not have to actually talk to him, because they both knew that without a distraction they would have to face facts, and that their romance would be over.

Vlad was often uncertain as to whether it had ever actually begun, or if it had all been a figment of his imagination. One night they sat and watched some grey drama, about a couple who decided it would be better if they just stayed friends, and both of them squirmed uncomfortably, because it was all a little too close for comfort.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin came when he was least expecting it. His dad was lording it over the remote, refusing to allow anyone near it though it was BBC3, and the timetabled programming was trashy and awful.

"You don't even know what this is," Ingrid protested, tone laced with frustration, and the Count gestured at it, too grandly, and said,

"Of course I do, it's –" and then in an undertone, "Wolfie, pass me that televisual guide, there's a good dog."

"Whatever it is, I don't think it's overly suitable –" Bertrand started, but was cut off by Vlad surprising himself, though he didn't have time to wonder about his outburst of 'Quiet!', instead snatching the remote and sitting in front of the screen, breath baited.

He was proved right, though he had already been certain of it. He'd recognise that accent anywhere.

"Growing up in the shadow of Stokely Castle," the voiceover said, "Chantal has always wanted her own fairytale wedding."

A girl Vlad vaguely recognized from Stokely Grammar appeared, all fake tan, fake nails and faker hair. She flicked through a gossip magazine as she told the camera,

"Like, I already told him if he messes my dress up then I won't even marry him."

"Across town, the would be groom is more concerned with the stag night arrangements."

The screen was suddenly full of Robin's face and, though ten minutes he would never have credited it, it felt like someone had just ripped his heart out. It was so obvious, as if he had always known, and he might have said something, he wasn't sure, but everyone was staring at him like he was growing an extra head when the world tilted the right way up again, and the guy delivering the voiceover said,

"Paul chose both brothers to be best man," and Ian's voice followed it with,

"I get to do all the good stuff, and Robin can make sure we all get to the church in the morning."

"I see Branagh is still as repulsive as ever," Ingrid said, like she felt it was expected of her, and Vlad didn't waste any time arguing, mumbling instead about how he had just remembered he had to be somewhere.

Erin caught him just before he had chance to flit, and he realised with a sudden wave of guilt exactly what she must think of his behaviour.

"That was your friend, wasn't it? The one you told me about."

Vlad nodded, cautious, and tried to determine whether there had been any significant stress on the word 'friend' or not. She swallowed, bit at her lip and then looked him in the face.

"We both know that it's all wrong." And then, with a forced smile, "Good luck, Vlad."

He had never loved her more than he did in that moment.

The fact that it was all more than a little bit mad really hit home when he found himself stood on the Branaghs' doorstep, about to, well, who knew. Confess his undying love to someone who might not even remember him.

Except Robin stared at him with wide eyed shock when he pulled the door open, and said, "Vlad, what are you doing here?," followed swiftly by, "if you've gone evil and are going to bite everyone you can't come in. But you can still do me if you want though."

It was so unexpected he started laughing, just on the verge of hysterical, and when he managed to regain control it was gone as swiftly as it had come, everything feeling entirely serious all over again.

"I've missed you," he said, cataloguing all the ways in which Robin looked different, and all the ways in which he looked exactly as Vlad remembered.

"Yeah?" Robin asked, sounding half hopeful and half smug, as if he had always known that he would come back, one day.

"Yeah," he nodded, certain it must all be obvious from the way his gaze lingered, and the way he had just turned up in the first place. Robin grinned, cheeks dimpling in the exact same way Vlad remembered, and said in a tone that told him all he needed to know,

"You'd better come in then, hadn't you?"


	129. Chapter 129

_Another ficlet lying around my hard drive._

* * *

They argue about stupid things, ridiculous things, and Vlad doesn't know what it means that after every fight it's Robin he thinks of. He lies awake in his coffin and remembers childish spats over who was going to copy whose homework, and which of them would get to sit by the window on their one and only school trip to Kenwood Adventure Centre.

Erin invariably looks at him sadly in the morning, so that he feels guilty enough to hold her hand and apologise, irrespective of which of them had started it. It never seems that important.

He asks Bertrand once, in a moment of weakness, if there is any hope, and if he had ever formed a meaningful relationship. Bertrand spends a moment looking into the middle distance, the way he does more and more since the destruction of Sethius, and tells him a tale of unrelenting misery and ruin, which does little to calm his fears on the subject.

Vlad supposes that he should think himself lucky, that anyone is willing to see past his vampirism. If it's not all sunshine and roses then, really, the magazines the girls leave lying around the school have taught him that that's no different for anyone.

Still he thinks of dark hair, and dark eyes, and when Erin finally calls him on it, because she isn't stupid, he ignores the advice of his ever present reflection and tells her the truth.

He can't forget Robin.


	130. Chapter 130

_More stuff from the files..._

* * *

Mothers were embarrassing, his more so than most. She insisted on showing people photographs of him as a kid with his stuffed pink bunny rabbit, and kissing him on the cheek in the middle of the high street.

She never knocked before entering, volunteered him to help out with Cub Scouts, and when Vlad upped sticks and disappeared one day, her comforting smiles were always far too knowing.

Robin still thought, as the ceremony came to an end, and his relatives started drifting back towards the car park, that none of it had really mattered.

If his mam could be there once more, even just to nag him, he'd give anything.

Instead he stood there, numb and silent, until the rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and Mrs Davies from number 49 came and led him away, and told him that it was hard now, but things would get better.

Perhaps things would, but in the weeks that followed there was no sign of it. She had been ill for years, his mam, until all her hair had fallen out and they had had no choice but to take her into hospital. All of them had spent as much time as they could there, and he had been far too preoccupied to notice whether or not the rubbish had been taken out or his school shirt had been ironed.

Now things were starting to be different, but his dad couldn't make himself do anything, and there was no point in switching the business phone on, because nobody rang it anyway.

Mrs Harker called him into her office for a second time, to say that she was so very sorry, and that she was worried, and wouldn't he like to talk about it to someone? He had tried that already, before Mrs Van Helsing moved away, and as there wasn't anything new to add he shook his head and trudged back to his lessons.

Mina, as she had insisted he call her, had told him that it wasn't his fault, and that if he reached out to people, they would welcome him. He wanted to tell her about Vlad, not about vampires or the crown, because he didn't want to be locked up in an asylum, but about how it had felt when he abandoned him. About how awful school was on his own, with nobody to talk to and nobody to sit with. About the pushing and the shoving and the name calling. But Mr Van Helsing was attacked by a group of yobs they never caught, and Mina went on compassionate leave, and by the time her replacement took over all his records had been mislaid somewhere.

Rumours started to circulate then. Horrible tales of what was wrong with his mother, and breathless warnings that whatever it was, it was catching. He had spat the truth out to Price, the next time he caught him in the boys' bathroom, as menacing as he'd always been. Price simply laughed, took his lunch money, and told him that it was because 'she can't stand you either, Branagh.'

They scuffled, and Price won, and he wandered aimlessly until he reached the ledge of the bridge there was always flowers laid against. He stood there, staring, for what must have been hours, but when the police came and realized from his pained hiss that his arm was broken he told them that he had slipped, and that it had been an accident.

There was a special assembly, he was told, and Price was suspended. His teachers tiptoed around him, and some of his classmates looked at him differently; pitying. He didn't notice, didn't care, just concentrated on not bursting into tears when his mam took his hand and told him in a death rattle,  
"Whatever you choose to do, I'll be proud of you. So long as you're happy, Robin."  
Chloe dealt with it by burying her head in her schoolwork. The twins took it out on their rugby training. His dad wasn't coping at all, and Robin just felt disconnected, and woke every night sweating and shaking, from dreams he couldn't quite remember.

They made him doubt himself, made him wonder if he really did remember or if, perhaps, the boys at school were right and he really was a nutjob. He tried to talk about it with Chloe, to ask her what she had thought of Vlad, of his family. She understood, he knew, but her expression was pinched when she answered,

"There's no point in dredging up the past, Robin. Don't you think dad's got enough to deal with?"

She was right, she always was. It hit him that morning as he stumbled down the stairs and took in his surroundings with fresh eyes. The brightly coloured walls his mam had so loved were faded, and the wallpaper in the hallway was peeling. The carpets were stained, and the kitchen was stacked high with old newspapers and dirty crockery. The work surfaces were thick with grease, and there was dust covering all his mam's favourite ornaments.

Back in his own bedroom he was surprised at the state of his school uniform, and the crumpled mock exam papers lying uncompleted in his schoolbag. It didn't seem possible that so much time had passed. It didn't seem real, any of it.

He sat his exams, one after the other, and fought not to shrug off the hand his head of year put on his shoulder, as she told him he could resit them anywhere, if he explained his circumstances. At home he opened the windows, and Chloe did the washing up. Ian put the hoover around, and Paul started sorting through the piles of rubbish, the empty take away cartons and the mountain of unopened post they had accumulated.

It was only then that any of them realized just how bad things really were, and that it didn't matter how many final demands they were sent there was no money to pay them. His dad accepted the news in silence, rubbed a hand over his unkempt face and left the room without saying anything. Robin hated him in that moment, for not being strong enough. For not being able to prevent it happening.

Later he felt guilty, sick with it, enough to make tea and promised to try and resit his GCSEs.

"You're a good boy, Robin," his dad told him, looking hunched in and older, and Robin didn't know what he felt but he tore all the posters down from his bedroom walls, and threw the clothes from his wardrobe and the books from his bookcase.

He didn't feel any better for it.

Chloe helped him, more patiently than he could ever hope to be, and he scraped passes, enough to be accepted on the course and to start an apprenticeship.

"I never thought you'd go for this," Jonno said to him when they bumped into each other in the High Street, dressed like something out of an old action movie. Robin was too busy thinking about he must look himself, in his ugly polo shirt, and how his shoulders ached, and how sick he was of being selfless already. "Have you heard from Vlad recently?" Jonno asked, no doubt scraping the barrel for something to say, and Robin shook his head and almost meant it when he said,

"I don't want to."

The call came when they most needed it, from a man his dad had used to run a scout troop with. The job was miles away, and would likely take weeks, but it would pay well and, right now, that was the only thing that mattered.

Ian drove the first half of the journey, and Paul the second. Robin double checked the toolkit and the material checklist, and all three of them pretended they couldn't smell the drink on their father's breath. They didn't say a word about it when they rang home to Chloe, and subtly poured the bottle they found down the sink in the bathroom. Sometimes, honesty really wasn't the best policy.

Garside Grange was even posher than he had imagined, and the head teacher met them personally, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she gave them the guided tour. It had a strange atmosphere, almost creepy without any students to fill the hallways, and Robin knew that once upon a time he would have reveled in it.

"We've struggled on as best we can," Miss McCauley said. "But it really is becoming a safety hazard. We're very lucky to have been allocated the funds to replace the system."

Robin looked around him, at the ornate carving and the high ceilings, and doubted that luck had anything to do with it. He couldn't imagine the place suffering the same funding shortfalls as Stokely Grammar. Still they trailed after her obediently, and nodded in the right places, and when she was gone Paul and Ian nudged each other and grinned,

"She's a bit of alright, isn't she?"

The job should have been like any other; lots of doing what he was told and getting his hands dirty. That first day there was no reason to think it wouldn't be. Except the place made a lot of noise for a school in the midst of summer holidays, and every time he turned around, it felt like he had almost caught sight of somebody watching him. The twins seemed oblivious, and his dad wasn't in the frame of mind to notice much of anything.

He found himself wandering the corridors on the third day, until he found himself in a well equipped art room. It felt like an eternity since he had last had any interest in picking up a pencil. He hesitated for a long moment, felt stupid, then went for it anyway, until time was slipping by unnoticed, and the shadows outside were lengthening.

"You have talent," said a dark voice and Robin whirled around, heart pounding in his chest at the shock of it. He ought to apologise for being there, he thought wildly. He ought to be helping his brothers with the pipe work. He glanced at the paper, at the turrets of Garside Grange silhouetted against the skyline. When he turned back the man was gone, and though he searched, there was nothing to confirm he hadn't just imagined it.

That evening, on the way back to the hostel, he bought a sketchbook while the twins stocked up on energy bars and fruit juice, and sat on his cramped bunk long into the night, trying to capture the face he had seen staring at him.

It was an accident, really, but there was another room booking and he had to leave his things somewhere. Miss McCauley visited to check on their progress, and when she asked, his father stared at the page in shock, and said that he ought to be at art college. He squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny, the complete opposite of how he would have once reacted, but Miss McCauley nodded her agreement and said,

"I didn't realize they were back; have you met Mr Count as well then?"

Robin had spent months dreaming up scenarios in which he and Vlad might meet again. At first he had been certain that Vlad would only be gone a few days, then that he would visit him at the first opportunity he got. As days turned into weeks, he waited for a letter, a phone call. It had taken months for the reality to sink in.

As far as Vlad was concerned, their friendship had meant nothing.

The meeting was awkward. The twins didn't remember, simply gazed dopily at Ingrid and accepted the web of lies they were woven. His dad was either oblivious or unfeeling to the Count's baiting, and the man he had seen the day before watched them all impassively. Vlad refused to even meet his eye, his hand curled possessively around the arm of a girl Robin could tell at a glance wasn't a vampire.

Sometimes he had told himself wearing the crown had made Vlad evil. Or that his position was too precarious for him to be seen fraternizing with the enemy. He had excused Vlad a thousand times over. In return Vlad scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor and asked blandly,

"How have things been in Stokely?"

Once they had meant everything to each other. Had shared every moment they could, every new experience. Vlad had once told him that his life wasn't worth living without him. Perhaps he had been expecting hugs and laughter. Tears and apologies. He wasn't equipped to deal with indifference.

"Same as always. The suburban nightmare," he managed, mortified at how strained his voice sounded. "I never forgot," he added, and Vlad looked up at him, sharply, before looking away again.

"It would be better if you had," he said, words quiet. It cut like a knife, worrying at wounds he had thought long since healed. He felt sick, more humiliated than angry, and they simply stood a moment longer in awkward silence. Two strangers with nothing to say to each other.

"The crown is a heavy burden upon him," a familiar voice told him when they had both made their lackluster excuses, the figure moving to sit beside him in the darkened corridor. "You shouldn't judge him too harshly."

Robin said nothing, didn't trust himself to answer. The man leaned closer, spoke almost in an undertone,

"I saw your portrait. It was most – flattering."

He swiped his tongue against suddenly dry lips, muttered something self deprecating. The man was a vampire. He wasn't a starry eyed twelve year old anymore. Nothing good could come of the conversation.

"Nonsense," the other man murmured, touching cool fingers to his shoulder, so that Robin couldn't help but shiver in spite of himself. "It has been a long time since I last saw my reflection, sometimes it's a struggle to remember. Perhaps you might accept a commission?"

It was a terrible idea, for a hundred different reasons, but Robin couldn't help himself. Nodded his agreement and lapped up every word of praise Bertrand was prepared to bestow on him. His heart hammered in his chest hopelessly – pathetically – and he dragged the process out as much as he dared, keenly aware of how long it had been since anyone had simply been willing to spend time with him.

His father warned him to be careful in low tones, then apologized abruptly, and told him he had his blessing to do whatever he wanted. It was what his mother would have wanted. Still he refused to take Chloe's worried phone calls, and instead let Paul laugh into the handset, airily telling her that Robin was a big boy, and that his personal opinion of Bertrand didn't matter, because 'beggars can't be choosers, can they?'

What was assumed by his family wasn't what was actually happening, however, at least not until the night he finished the picture and he asked abruptly,

"Do you ever miss being human?"

Bertrand looked startled, mask slipping, and Robin couldn't explain how he knew, just that he was certain of it. The man's pale fingers were a fraction too tense on the stem of his wine glass, and his eyes clouded for a moment, gazing into some other time, and then he was in control once more and Robin held his breath without realising it.

"You're not as intolerable as most of your kind," Bertrand told him, something in his tone making Robin's heart pound in hopeful expectation. The press of lips against his own was near too thrilling for words, though he surely would have found something to say had Vlad not chosen that moment to interrupt and tell Bertrand his assistance was needed. Bertrand gave him a parting look, cool like nothing had happened, and the following day it was Mrs McCauley who told them that Bertrand was off on a visit to Romania.

It would never have never have come to anything he told himself later, when the job was finished and he stared numbly out of the van window. Bertrand was older, and smarter and a bloodsucker, and even with that disadvantage he would still think Robin a loser. Everyone else did.

The others gave him a wide berth when they got back to Stokely, let him try and deal with it in his own way. When it became obvious that wasn't working, the twins insisted he go on a night out with them, and he drank so much he could scarcely stand, and swore that when he went outside for some fresh air he saw Bertrand from the corner of his eye, watching him.

He pulled himself together, got on with his work and collected all his certificates, though it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. His dad apologised to him in the aftermath of his final exam, and told him that he had seen a doctor and joined a support group. That he had thrown away the bottles and would be alright; Robin had to live his own life.

It felt strange, having to prove he was capable of something other than getting a job done while making as little mess as possible, but his tutors told him that he was a natural. He made friends, and earned good grades, and the first time his work was exhibited his dad put a hand on his shoulder, and said,

"Your mother would have been so proud of you."

Vlad sent him a letter, because he got his name in the papers, and he read it over and over again, about how Vlad had thought he was only acting in his best interests, and that he was sorry and that he hoped he was happy now. Robin didn't understand most of it, and when he finally lost his temper and tore it into pieces, he decided that he didn't want to.

He wrangled another exhibit, and then another, and at the latter he stayed long after everyone had gone, wondering if this was really the turning point, and if he could find someone to share it all with, if things really were going to start working in his favour. He sat and pondered until he heard footsteps echoing on the polished floor, and he made to stand, and to apologise, but he wasn't fast enough and instead somebody dropped down to sit gracefully beside him.

"I told you you were talented," the figure said, and Robin took a moment to simply gape before saying,

"I didn't expect to see you here."

It was an understatement, a huge one, and though he tried to be nonchalant his pulse was racing, and his stomach felt as though it was turning somersaults.

"I thought artists thrived on the unexpected."

There was silence then, heavy and uncertain, and Robin was surprised when he wasn't the one to break it, and Bertrand answered his unspoken question, the one about why he was really there, with,

"I miss it all the time, I simply refuse to acknowledge it."

"What's changed then?" Robin asked eventually, the waiting unbearable. Bertrand simply smiled at him, wistful, and said,

"All of us dance to someone else's tune, Robin."

It was too cryptic, too confusing, and Robin settled instead for pressing their lips together, only half certain he wasn't about to get bitten. Bertrand kissed him back, icy hands pushing under the fabric of his shirt, so that he couldn't help but shiver all the harder.

"Do you trust me?" Bertrand asked, dark and sinful.

"I don't trust myself," Robin answered, truthful, and though it wasn't much it seemed to be enough for Bertrand to keep returning, night after night until they had some kind of understanding, and he could stand at his mother's graveside and _know_ that she was proud of him.

He was happy.


	131. Chapter 131

The news came at the worst juncture possible, and Vlad couldn't hide his horrified expression quick enough. Bertrand glared around the chamber, daring anyone to comment on it, and later bowed low when Vlad made the request, though they both understood the reality of what he was asking.

"You -," Vlad started, glancing anxiously towards where his sister was sat, before continuing, "You can say no if you want to. This isn't a demand."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow and shook her head, but didn't say anything, and Bertrand tried not to let on how much the younger vampire's words touched him. He was cold and heartless, or he was supposed to be, at any rate.

"It's my honour to serve," he said instead in a tone that was cool and respectful, and Vlad gave him a searching look before finally nodding his dismissal.

Bertrand left in a flurry of cape and determination, surprised to find that he really didn't begrudge being chosen for the assignment. No other vampire could be trusted to be as restrained, not even Ingrid, and informing the Guild could only be a last resort, given the current tensions.

Besides, he thought as the night air swept by him, at least he could rely on Robin to be suitably impressed when he turned up as a one man rescue party.

* * *

Robin shifted experimentally, and instantly wished that he hadn't. His hands were bound painfully above his head, and from the sickening rush of pain he suspected that if nothing was broken, something had to be dislocated.

Back when he was twelve he would never have believed that having a vampire for a best mate could have a downside. Twelve years later and he had acquired more than enough evidence to convince anyone.

The room was dank, dark, smelt of death and the kind of bodily fluids he tried not to think about. He was shivering with cold and shock, and he wondered with no little horror if they were going to torture him before they made a meal of him.

It was all massively unfair, really, because he hadn't even seen Vlad in near a twelve month, and then the other man had been so busy with the baby he had spent most of the visit playing chess with Bertrand.

Not, he conceded even as he resigned himself to waiting for some input on what the hell was happening, that it had been much of a hardship.

There were, after all, _some_ benefits to being best mates with a vampire.

* * *

Perhaps he had grown vain at Vlad's side, big headed, but the force waiting for him far outnumbered what he had been expecting. And he generally expected the worst of everything.

Suspicions formed in his mind as they finally succeeded in subduing him, clapping the cuffs around his wrists, and pressing the UV wand to his back for no other reason than that it amused them. A horribly familiar voice confirmed them, its owner leaning in so close he was forced to repress a shudder.

"A good hunter understands that his bait is the most important weapon in his arsenal."

"What do you want, Vasilev?" Bertrand ground out, refusing to give the older vampire the satisfaction. The last time they had met had been almost a century ago. The so-called War to end all Wars had been over, and he had declared himself thoroughly sick of the despair and the filth of it. He had wanted lights, and music, and dancing, and prey that struggled against him, not begged him tearfully to put them out of their misery.

He had been making the rounds of the club scene, gorging himself on pretty girls at the cabaret, and pretty boys at the speakeasies. He was with one such conquest when Vasilev had crawled from the sewers to offer him a deal. The boy had paled, so that his dark eyes were even more striking, and Bertrand had let him run because he didn't share, not with anyone.

In the present Vasilev simply smiled, a sight Bertrand remembered all too vividly, and motioned for the lackeys holding him to start moving.

"All in good time, _Bertrand_."

* * *

Robin supposed he must have fallen asleep. Or passed out. He wasn't too proud to admit to it.

Still he came back to himself with a start, jerking his shoulder as he did so which made him hiss through his teeth, blinking at the sudden influx of light.

"Not so special now are you," a voice spat in a tone that spoke of longstanding animosity, and a figure was pushed into the cell before the door was slammed closed again.

Robin tried to concentrate on not panicking. It could be another human. A pretty girl, perhaps, who he could rescue from this certain death and get his name in the vampire equivalent of the Stokely Chronicle. The glow of UV wrist cuffs filled the room, outlining a very male figure, and Robin reluctantly shelved that theory.

He could hold his breath, maybe. Kick the vampire in the unmentionables when he made for him, and then - Then die even more painfully. He was freaking out, he registered dimly. Hyperventilating.

There was shuffling, the vampire was trying to get up. Robin could feel blood dripping down his calf from where the jolt had reopened the wound. It was like a red flag to a bull, he had no hope.

"Calm down," a voice told him, though it scarcely registered. "Everything's going to be alright; I'm going to get you out of here."

* * *

The sight of Vasilev's handiwork was affecting him far more than he had expected it to, reducing him to the level of spouting nonsense platitudes. There were no windows, and the doors were properly sealed; their enemy was no idiot.

Robin was visibly terrified, and though once he would have revelled in it, now it only hammered home his weaknesses. He could feel the way the breather flinched when his back hit the wall beside him, to provide leverage for regaining his footing, and it struck at something deep inside, the knowledge that even Robin, deep down, considered him a monster.

He bit it back, refused to give in quite so easily, and worked his way back onto his feet, surveying the cell once again though it relinquished no new secrets. He couldn't get his own hands free without Robin's assistance, that much was obvious, and he couldn't get his body to co-operate and form flame, the air thick as it was with powdered garlic and argentilium.

"I've been on these pretty nasty tablets lately. If the NHS doesn't want my blood, I'm sure you wouldn't want it either, probably full of all kinds of -" Robin was babbling and Bertrand made himself ignore it.

The only other option was to concentrate, harder and harder, until it felt like his head would split with the pressure of it. He grit his teeth and kept up at it, eyes snapping open as the chains finally snapped and he hissed in pain, the UV cuffs burning into the flesh of his wrists as he instinctively tried to reach out and break Robin's boneless descent to the floor.

He sank gracelessly to his own knees, watched as the haze of mindless fear lifted from dark eyes to be replaced by recognition.

"Bertrand?" he whispered, like he couldn't quite believe it, and Bertrand had to force himself to be practical.

"Undo these cuffs. There has to be a way out of here."

* * *

Under normal circumstances he only ever saw Bertrand after extensive fussing over his appearance, all on the extremely unlikely off chance that Bertrand might have a secret passion for over inquisitive breathers. These were anything but normal circumstances, and if the dirt and the grime and the sweat weren't off putting enough, the sting of tears he couldn't quite keep back had to be finishing the job off for him.

The stoic bravery he had managed alone had dissipated with Bertrand's arrival, and it was cold, colder than he could ever remember being. He wrapped Bertrand's cape tighter around himself, as if it could keep out the pain and the knowledge that if nobody got that door open, he was only going to starve to death anyway.

Like he could read his mind Bertrand said, "Don't worry, one of them will drop by shortly. Vasilev never could resist premature posturing."

The last was said with a sneer, darker than the kind he used when describing students or councillors, but familiar enough to be soothing. Bertrand had already explained that Vlad had sent him, how, in the worst case scenario, at least someone would know to come looking for them. Robin tried to get a grip, to be helpful.

He fumbled in his pocket for his mobile, pressed uselessly at the buttons, and said, voice strained, "I'm going to send Orange a strongly worded letter when we get out of here."

Bertrand looked over at him, stopped pacing and moved to sit next to him. Robin tensed, for a moment, then let his head rest against the other man's shoulder.

He might not, he reasoned, get the chance to do it again.

* * *

Bertrand stiffened, instinctively, then drew in an unnecessary breath and forced himself to relax. He didn't want Robin to think he didn't want the intimacy. That last thought reverberated around his head, mocking, because he truly had become pathetic.

Long ago Vasilev had taken him under his wing and he had been grateful, in the beginning. Had learnt from the master just how much torment a human body could withstand, and what it meant to have the power of life and death at his fingertips. Then there was the book, and enough war to last a thousand lifetimes, and though he was an expert at subterfuge he had never mastered the ability to lie to himself.

He wanted things he had long since vowed to turn his back on. Kindness and warmth, companionship and trust. _Love_, he supposed was the proper term.

"I'm going to be late for work," Robin mumbled into the fabric of his jacket, as though it was truly urgent, and Bertrand allowed himself to lay a palm across the pale forehead. The skin was burning, and not just in comparison to his own chilled flesh, though Robin's teeth were chattering. Fever, he diagnosed, and watched as his own hand pushed into dark hair, his thumb rubbing soft circles against Robin's temple.

He had to stay in control, keep his wits about him. Ignore the heady scent of blood, so thick he could almost taste it. That was what Vasilev wanted: for him to give in and feed, tear apart the treaty and confirm everyone's objections to a half-fang being given any position of responsibility.

There was nothing he could do but wait, and hope that Vlad hadn't shut his mind to the signal he was attempting to send him.

* * *

Time slipped by in fits and starts. The constant pain in his limbs, and the cold that only ever seemed to seep deeper. Bertrand's voice telling him things that he could only be imagining, because Bertrand would surely never tell them to anyone.

Tales of fallen comrades and desperate mothers who pleaded on behalf of terrified children, of a lonely child in another time entirely, and memories of fresh laundry and the French countryside.

There was light, noises, but then darkness again and Robin felt almost as though he were floating, his mind replaying the first time Bertrand had revealed anything of any personal value to him. It hadn't been long after his first encounter with Vlad in years, and his knuckles had still tingled when he thought of it, in memory of the way he smashed his fist into Vlad's nose in place of trying for a civil conversation.

Vlad had already unlived through his Coronation, though Bertrand had yet to be promoted to the Chamber. He had admitted to himself that the man of his dreams was cold and dead, and more than a couple of centuries older than him into the bargain.

"When were you turned?" he had asked one evening, when Vlad had disappeared to who knew where, and being in the older man's presence had robbed him of any semblance of tact he had ever been able to lay claim to. He had been much younger then.

Bertrand had raised an eyebrow because, so he had learned later, the fact shouldn't have been obvious. "Why aren't you afraid of me? I could rip your throat out."

It had tumbled from his lips, the way van Helsing had never stood a chance, even if he had remembered. Not when it had happened so quickly, not when he had a bus full of school pupils to think of. He'd arched his head back, so that his own brush with undeath was visible, and said, "If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already."

Bertrand had simply sat and began setting up a battered chess board,

"It was 1672, the beginning of the Franco-Dutch war. I knew nothing of death and little enough of life."

Cold fingers gripped at his own in the present and Robin struggled to break free of the scene.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

* * *

Vasilev was at once an unknown quantity, and as predictable as ever. He found him watching over Robin's restless form, and the scene must have spoken louder than words because Vasilev smirked, and told him,

"I'm disappointed. I expected better from my favourite childe."

The bile rose in his throat even as he kept his expression indifferent. He knew from experience that any sign of weakness would only make things worse for him.

"The others are getting restless. They're hungry and, in the scheme of things, what is the blood of one expendable little breather?" Vasilev moved closer, steps cocky though he held a UV baton in one gloved hand, proving that he didn't really have confidence in his ability to overpower him.

"Your plan will fail," Bertrand said, tone measured. "Vlad has the support of the Guild, the Clans and the Council."

Vasilev smiled. "You haven't changed." It was punctuated with the touch of leather clad fingers to his cheek and he had to fight to suppress a shudder. Once the man had been everything to him; the thought was sickening.

"I could have gone for the Slayer, the halfling," Vasilev continued, "but that would have been foolhardy. You would never have arrived alone had that been the case. No, he will come underarmed and undermanned and, if you're very good, I'll let you watch as I kill him."

Bertrand bared his fangs, couldn't help himself, and then he was trying to tear the other man limb from limb, without any style or finesse, just the blinding rage only Vasilev had ever been able to inspire in him.

The baton bit into his arm, and two other figures came running from the corridor to join the fray. Andrei snarled at him, though to all intents and purposes they were brothers, even if Andrei was the elder and he the usurper. He didn't recognise the other and succeeded in knocking him out cold, locking eyes with Andrei before pushing the stake he carried for emergencies through the other vampire's chest.

It was over, he was going to win. Then Vasilev threw something into his face, something that made him howl with the pain, and the door was slammed to, leaving him alone with nothing but Robin and the darkness all over again.

* * *

It was hopeless, he thought as the hours stretched into days. Robin's pulse was so weak it was barely there, and the hunger gnawed at him so strongly that were he a couple of decades younger he doubted whether he would have been able to restrain himself.

The argentilium had been ground with something, he didn't know what, and he could feel where it had burned away the skin when he gingerly pressed fingers to his face. It felt bad, but he had no real way of telling. It wasn't as though he had a reflection to worry about anyway.

He hit his fist uselessly against the wall again and, when Robin stirred, he dropped to the floor beside him, hoping that his presence might be comforting somehow. He had seen it over and over again on the battlefield - nobody wanted to die alone.

And if Vlad didn't turn up, it would all be over, and, yet, if Vlad _did_ turn up it might all be over anyway.

* * *

Robin woke to find himself in hospital. Nowhere else had quite that mix of stark clinicalism and ingrained tragedy. His mother was asleep in the chair beside the bed, exhaustion written clear on her face. He tried to move, to sit up, but it was no use.

The world lurched and swirled around him, and still there was no sign of Bertrand.

* * *

Vlad didn't know how to approach the subject, that much was obvious. Bertrand wished fervently that the young vampire would choose to leave the topic alone entirely.

He had had to be rescued, for the first time since his fangs had fully descended. It didn't bear thinking about. Worse his own security staff had seen him wrapped around - an albeit barely breathing - breather. How could he ever hope to command their respect again?

"They got all of them," Vlad said, with just a trace of anxious concern, though his eyes were wide as they flickered from his bandaged arms to his face and back again. "They'll be executed at sunrise."

Bertrand nodded stiffly. It was the proper thing to do with them, even if he could read the remorse on Vlad's face at having to order it, no matter how carefully he tried to hide it.

Silence stretched, and Vlad shifted as if to leave. Bertrand felt some of the tension draining, only for it to return tenfold.

"You should go and see him. I mean, spend some time with him." Vlad flustered, "I - it's the least I can do."

He mulled the words over all day within the confines of his coffin, debating whether it would be a mark of greater cowardice to go or to leave Robin to live his life. In the slow hours before dusk Wolfie shied away from him, and Ingrid looked him over pityingly, confirming that his face was more of a mess than he had imagined.

He would go, he decided. There could only be one answer, and to delay hearing it would be the real cowardice.

* * *

Robin listened obediently to the medical babble, and nodded in the right places though he had no real idea what they were talking about. He'd broken something, but that he'd already known. He'd been dehydrated and feverish, and he was lucky to have come through it.

His mam gripped his hand tightly when they were told the last, and though he was 24 and hadn't needed to scare the nightmares away in years, he squeezed back to let her know it was appreciated.

The twins came to see him straight from work, and Chloe caught the bus back from university, though he had told her over the phone there was no need to. His workmates came round with a card, and his dad spent a visiting hour in stiff silence before abruptly pulling him into a hug, and telling him that he had better not even think of scaring them all like that again.

He had near given hope when he finally caught sight of a dark haired figure, and he did his best not to let his shock show, when Bertrand stepped close enough to let him see his face clearly.

"I'll just go and get a cup of tea from the canteen," his mam said, though she had a half full cup sitting on the bedside table.

Bertrand took her place, though his posture was full of tension, and he waited until Robin had told him exactly what the doctors had said before saying,

"They say it will heal, it will just take time."

There was something in his tone that made Robin's heart clench in his chest. A vulnerability he hadn't seen since he had come to keep Bertrand company, in the aftermath of a particularly nasty case of blood poisoning.

"You saved my life," he said softly, mindful of the listening ears of the other patients.

Bertrand snorted, studied his hands. "I was unprepared. My mistakes almost cost you everything."

Robin couldn't take it, reached out with his better arm and took Bertrand's unresisting hand in his own. The words stuck in his throat, came out as little more than a whisper, "It was me who got kidnapped in the first place. Perhaps we need to make it up to each other."

His heart pounded in his chest, panic stricken that Bertrand wouldn't understand what he was saying, still more afraid that he would understand exactly. The silence stretched on and on until he was certain of rejection then, just as he was wondering how he could possibly have been so stupid, Bertrand lifted his hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, like everyone else in the ward wasn't watching avidly.

"You don't know the things I've done," Bertrand told him, and now the initial shock had worn off the angry red flesh was less distracting. He had sketchy memories, vague images of a fight, and a howl of pain, and it made his insides try to twist themselves inside out, to know that Bertrand had gone through that for him.

He lay back against the pillows, still quick to give into exhaustion and told him simply,

"No, but I want you to be able to trust me enough to tell me."

* * *

Robin improved every day, and when he was well enough to go home and to move freely Vlad was true to his word, and freed him of all responsibility for a week.

"Robin's my best friend," he told him awkwardly, cheeks colouring with the help of a system full of soya blood. "Don't - I mean, you wouldn't, but just…" He trailed off awkwardly and Erin picked it up for him, smiling too knowingly,

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Bertrand nodded, unable to think of any more appropriate action and fled as quickly as he could without making it look like he was fleeing. Not wanting to be interrupted by Robin's flatmates any more than his parents he had already made arrangements, though he surprised himself by his willingness to sit through tea and cake to humour Robin's mother.

"I think it's lovely that you're taking him away," Mrs. Branagh told him, smiling at him with such benign trust he had to focus on the inside of his teacup. "Just make sure that he eats properly, and doesn't _over-exert _himself."

"Mam!" Robin exclaimed, blushing at the seeming insinuation, and his father came close to choking on a mouthful of Kendal Mint cake. Bertrand smiled in spite of himself, and didn't wait until they had reached the end of the street before pulling Robin close and kissing him.

It was staggering, still, that Robin allowed it and, when they arrived at their destination, trusted him implicitly though behind the door there could have been anything waiting for him. It wasn't particularly outstanding, as guest crypts went, but it was dry and erring on the clean side, and best of all there wasn't anyone around to bother them.

"Cool," Robin said appreciatively, taking in the decoration, and then raised an eyebrow at the sight of the bed frame.

Bertrand smirked, because it came naturally, and sat on the bed with a flourish as he said,

"The Council expects its officials to do a lot of entertaining."

Robin laughed, a bright sound he hadn't realised how much he missed until it had entered his unlife again, and as though he could read his wistful thoughts, Robin stepped closer, until Bertrand could feel the body heat pouring off of him. Robin put his hands on Bertrand's shoulders and leaned in to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, where he was told the skin was taking longer to heal.

"I never thought I'd get to be this close to you," Robin murmured, looking half embarrassed at his honesty, and Bertrand wrapped his arms around the figure in front of him, allowing his hands to wander across the expanse of his back, before pushing up beneath his shirt.

Robin shivered, and he would have pulled his hands away, except that dark eyes met his own, and a dark voice begged him to continue. They ended up lying across the bed, Robin on top of him, pinning him in place as he kissed him. He ought to be ashamed that he could stoop so low, to allow a breather to have such a hold over him, to press kisses to the juncture of his neck, teeth grazing hard enough to leave a mark of dominance.

In truth he couldn't care. He had tried being the perfect vampire, and he had failed at it as he had failed long ago at being the perfect son.

"You're perfect to me," Robin whispered, as though they were sharing more than a mattress, and he let go of every negative thought he was clinging to. In that moment it was more than good enough for him.

* * *

Robin clutched at the other man with a desperation he was sure wasn't at all attractive. Still Bertrand clutched back, and made encouraging noises, and when it became clear that the older man wasn't going to do the expected thing and take control of the situation, he took hold of his wrist and pressed the cool hand between them until he couldn't think clearly about anything.

"Please," he managed to croak when Bertrand got the idea, and his movements became more and more erratic, until he could do nothing but kiss Bertrand wetly, his entire frame shaking.

Bertrand held him in the aftermath, tender like he couldn't imagine any vampire other than Vlad being. He rolled the thought around as he shifted so he could look into Bertrand's face, trace the fading scars, and wonder how much of any vampire was an act, and how much was heartless evil.

"I never thought I'd get this close to you," Bertrand said, voice raw with the effort it took, repeating his own words back to him. Robin smiled, thought of countless chess matches, and hours spent daydreaming about if only, so that he was certain it must be painfully obvious to all and sundry.

"If all it takes is nearly dying, I'll do it more often," Robin joked in response, pulling the expensive looking covers over them, and let Bertrand give him a glare that was equal parts fond exasperation and admonishment.

Bertrand was the first to fall asleep, deathly still though his arm was still wrapped tightly around him. Robin looked around the room again, taking in the details, and then back at his arm full of vampire and grinned wide enough to split his face.

His twelve year old self had been right after all. He had just been destined to end up with a well fit vampire.


	132. Chapter 132

Addams family crossover drabble for werepuppy.

* * *

Vlad suspects that Wednesday is a little unstable, but having Ingrid for a sister helps to put things into perspective. Wednesday hasn't actually tried to kill him. Not yet, at any rate.

She talks instead of how easy it would be, tone indifferent as she describes each potential dispatch method in gory detail. Vlad winces sometimes, can't help it, and Wednesday graces him with a hint of a smile and says,

"Don't be such a wimpire."

Vlad always acts affronted and hides a smile of his own, not wanting to push things.

They both know the rules of this game.


	133. Chapter 133

_Mira!Vlad ficlet for werepuppy. :)_

* * *

"You've got a Valentine's card, Robin," Mrs. Branagh said, hovering eagerly as she waited for him to open it.

"I've got a Valentine's card," Ian pointed out.

"And I have," Paul added.

Mrs. Branagh smiled at them both. "But Robin's isn't even from me."

The twins scowled, Chloe hid a smile behind a spoonful of porridge, and Robin ripped the envelope open like his life depended on it.

'Be my Valentine', it read, in fancy black lettering. 'Take me to the Valentine's ball?'

"Who do you think it's from?" Mrs. Branagh asked in a tone that suggested she already knew.

Robin beamed, touched up his hair and went to answer the doorbell.

There was only one possible answer.

_Ingrid_.

* * *

"Did you get any Valentine's cards?" Mira asked as they walked to school, Chloe a few steps behind with her nose buried in a textbook. "Ingrid got a whole pile of them."

Her tone was half annoyed, half wistful, and if Robin hadn't been too busy thinking about Mira's older sister, he might have even noticed.

As it was he sighed happily to himself, imagining the look on his brothers' faces - on Price's face - when he turned up to the stupid Valentine's disco with the hottest girl at Stokely Grammar School.

He was still thinking of it when a shadow fell darkly across his path and he glanced up to find himself looking into Price's actual face.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Freak-boy," Price acknowledged coolly, before turning his attention to Mira. "So, Mira, you have a date yet?"

"Kelsey won't like this," Drew, Price's shadow to all intents and purposes, hissed. Price thumped him soundly and turned back to Mira, all dimples and menacing glare.

Robin thought it was a disconcerting combination.

"Yes," was Mira's answer, punctuated a moment later by a shove to Robin's elbow. "Don't I?"

Robin rubbed at his elbow - _women_ - and didn't bother to hide his surprise when he asked,

"You do?"

Mira glared at him and he hastily amended himself.

"Of course you do."

* * *

Kelsey, as Drew Thomas had predicted, did not like her on-off boyfriend propositioning girls who looked better than her. According to Mira at any rate.

Robin said nothing on that particular subject, because having a sister had taught him something, and selflessly agreed to spend morning break in the Art room. Even if it meant missing the opportunity to get a glimpse of Ingrid in the playground.

Especially if it meant avoiding Price and Watson, who had taken his very existence as an insult, right back on their very first day in Mrs. Parry's reception class.

"What do you think I should wear tonight?" He asked as he put the finishing touches to a particularly epic painting of a scantily clad vampiress. Nobody would know what Ingrid went for better than her sister. Even if there were few similarities between them.

Ingrid was cold-hearted, and deadly, and violent. While Mira was sweet, and kind, and friendly to everyone but him.

What was a little bite among friends, after all?

"You can wear what you want," Mira said in answer to his question and then, like she couldn't help herself, added, "but you'd look good in a suit. In my opinion."

Robin grinned.

Tonight was going to be awesome.

* * *

Robin took a long time getting ready. Longer than usual, at any rate. Because Mrs. Branagh told him he looked 'smart', and so he had to get changed, and then changed again because nobody as cool as him would be seen dead in a purple shirt. Ever.

Still, he was standing on the Dracula's doorstep in plenty of time, checking his breath against his palm and almost bouncing on the soles of his feet, in eagerness.

"Ugh," Ingrid said, pulling a face when she answered the door. She followed it with, "Mira! Your vile pustule of a breather is here to see you."

Robin did his best not to take it to heart. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen - Ingrid was the Mistress of that.

Mira, on the other hand, smiled too widely at him, so that he had to check out his shirt again, and wonder whether grey could ever really be a cool enough colour, either.

"I'll just get my bag," Mira told him, and Robin stood in the hallway resisting the urge to fidget. He tried to figure out instead who Mira's date might be. His mind brought up an image of Jonno van Helsing and he sniggered.

He was still in the midst of sniggering when Mira reappeared, wearing a pretty dress and smelling of lip gloss. If it was Jonno, Robin decided, he'd never let Mira hear the end of it.

"Shouldn't we wait for Ingrid?" Robin asked as Mira made to lead the way out the door, and Mira frowned back at him,

"Why?"

Robin sighed - it was hard always having to be the brains of the operation - and said slowly,

"Because she's my date. She wrote me a card and everything."

"Ingrid," Mira repeated, like the concept really was that difficult. "Ingrid wrote you a card."

Robin nodded, proud. And then because Mira didn't seem like she was going to continue said,

"What about your date anyway?"

Mira came back to herself at this, words leaving her all in a rush as she said,

"Yes, that's right. My date. I have a date. A really cool date."

* * *

And so Robin found himself sitting on a bench in the corner of Stokely Grammar school hall, surrounded by pink crepe paper, and heart shaped confetti being consoled by Mira - Ingrid meant it as a joke, you know what she's like - while Renfield ensured everyone, even Mr. Perkins, avoided the finger sandwiches.

That was his life, Robin reflected.

That was _Stokely_.


	134. Chapter 134

_For Red, Werepuppy and Hopecoppice. Drabble thing... It's a start! :)_

* * *

"You can't go around peering through other people's windows," Vlad had hissed, half anxious, half outraged, and Robin had only shrugged and squinted all the harder, intent on a glimpse of something he wasn't strictly entitled to.

Vlad hadn't understood back then, not even with a lifetime of skulking on the fringes of the living behind him. Hadn't realised what it would really mean to join the ranks of the undead, and to spend an eternity trapped in the shadows.

Because then it was his turn to look through windows, to watch and to wish without ever once being invited. Always a silent witness to family gatherings and solitary tears, broken hearts and solemn promises.

People moved on, and their lives moved with them. Friends became enemies, and enemies became friends. Children were born, and the elderly sickened.

"You'll get a reputation," Robin rasped, when his own time was near. "Peering in through other people's windows."

"You're not supposed to see me," Vlad said, more anxious than outraged, for all that he was meant to be the glorious leader.

Robin smiled, though it faltered, and pressed a weathered hand against ice cold skin.

"You've never been alone; I've been watching."


	135. Chapter 135

_For the 'first/last' prompt on my trope bingo card._

* * *

The first time he kissed Robin, it felt like something out of a fairy tale.

It had been warm, the summer sky as blue as in a picture book, and his heart had pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts as they chastely pressed their lips together.

He had been waiting forever, or so it had seemed, and now that it was actually happening Vlad was certain that nothing, not the names they called him at school, nor the constant worrying about what the future might hold, could spoil it.

Robin had been embarrassed afterwards, cheeks burning and gaze shy, even as he awkwardly linked their fingers. Vlad had beamed, unable not to, content to simply sit silently in the other boy's company.

"So," Robin had finally asked him on his doorstep, striving for nonchalant but succeeding only at nervous, "does this mean we're together, then?"

Vlad had leaned in close, kissed him again in answer, and spent the night grinning dopily at his ceiling, head full of the way Robin's face had lit up as he answered,

"_Awesome_."

* * *

The last time he kissed Robin, it felt like something out of a nightmare.

It had been cold, the sky grey and overcast, and had it been able to his heart would have been pounding. He could sense Robin's pulse, fluttering too rapidly beneath delicate skin, and he could smell the heady mix of his fear and adrenaline, see the sheen of sweat across his clammy forehead.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he said, tone deceptively calm, and Robin only sneered at him, hate twisting his handsome features, and tightened the grip on the stake he was holding still further.

This wasn't the reunion Vlad had once so longingly pictured, nor the second chance he had once so fervently dreamed of.

"You're a monster, Vlad," Robin told him, eyes glinting with the kind of madness that came with witnessing too much violence, and with losing too many of those closest to you. Vlad understood it only too well. "You never meant anything to me."

His words were a lie - they had to be - and too easily Vlad switched their position, so that Robin was the one pressed back against the wall, and he was the one in control of the situation.

The kiss was neither chaste nor sweet. Their teeth clashed together and Robin bit down hard at his lip, the blood smearing across his chin and awakening urges so dark and unspeakable Vlad was sure his teenage self wouldn't even have been able to imagine them.

"Go on then," Robin challenged, disgust writ as clear in his voice as in his expression. "We both know it's what you've always wanted."

The rest was a blur. The metallic taste of blood, and the anguished cries that slowly, so very slowly, gave way to silence.

Robin fell to the floor, lifeless, when it was over, and sightless eyes stared up into his own, accusing.

There was nothing he could do to make it better, nothing he could say, but still he repeated the words over and over, wishing he could rid himself once and for all of memories of blue sky and shy smiles.

"I'm sorry, Robin. I'm so sorry."


End file.
